Three's a Crowd
by emma.likes.to.write
Summary: Ivan and Alfred get into another fight at school - this time, a lovers' squabble. The principal suggests they try peer counseling. At first, it doesn't sound like a bad idea to Alfred and Ivan - until they actually learn who their peer counselor will be. (RusAme HighSchoolAU - Sequel to "Table for Two")
1. Another Fight

**A/N: Hey guys! **

**Yes...a _Table for Two _sequel! So excited to write this. It's funny, when I first wrote that fic, I didn't even consider writing a sequel. I thought the story ended satisfyingly and to-the-point. Then the idea of writing a sequel crossed my head about a month ago and I was like, "huh...might not be a bad idea." I really loved writing _Table for Two, _first of all_—_and plus, I thought there were some plot holes that needed to be addressed, like Yao and Alfred's family dynamics and whatnot. **

**If you haven't read _Table for Two _yet, go read that first, obviously. **

**Anyway...enjoy the first chapter! **

**••••••••**

"I just don't understand why you like hanging out with your friends more than you like hanging out with me—your boyfriend."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ivan, I'm allowed to have friends! You're way too obsessed with me—have been ever since we started dating!"

Alfred gritted his teeth in anger and frustration as he lay his head against a locker, his arm above him, his hand clutched into a fist.

For Ivan, it was far different. Alfred's harsh, icy tone had taken him back to the days he didn't like to remember. Nightmarish days in which Alfred had been his bully, and not the person he cared about most in the world. Now he wished he hadn't brought up anything in the first place.

"Alfred—you just don't understand, babe. I love you. I just wanna be closer to you."

"AREN'T YOU ALREADY?!" Alfred screamed loudly, making everybody in the hallway turn and stare. He turned to look in Ivan's eyes again. "For Christ sakes, Ivan, I literally do everything with you—sit at lunch with you, made my schedule so that I could have as many classes as possible with you...I come to your house literally almost every day, and I even go with you to your art club sometimes! _What more do you want, Ivan?!" _

Ivan was now beginning to grow angry. "I want you to love me like you used to! I'm your boyfriend—I should be the most important person in your life!" Ouch—that had sounded harsher than Ivan would've liked. He _did _sound controlling.

"My family, and my friends, shouldn't be important to me?" Alfred asked bitterly.

"I'm not saying that. I just...don't care for your friends. I think you can do better without them."

Alfred, the beautiful golden-haired boy Ivan loved so much, didn't seem so beautiful anymore. He seemed just as ugly as he'd been when he was Ivan's bully. He sneered, and, with crowds of people still watching them, he inched closer to Ivan, until his shoulders bumped against the Russian's chest. He stared Ivan straight in the eyes. "Since when do you have the right to tell me who my friends should and shouldn't be?"

Ivan glared right back at Alfred. "I _do _have a right. I'm your boyfriend."

Alfred screamed, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, IVAN! This 'I'm your boyfriend' crap just needs to stop!"

"I _do _love you," Alfred admitted, and Ivan's heart lit up again for just a second. "But you're not the most important person in my life! I'm sorry, but I have a family, for one, and great friends, who are actually awesome."

Alfred smirked angrily, eerily. "And...you know what, Ivan? Sometimes they tell me I should dump you."

Ivan was shocked. He felt his face grow beet-red, and his heart began to pound. He hated to look at Alfred, his crossed arms, his smug sneer, his crooked glasses, his pink face. In that moment, he wanted to hurt Alfred. "SCREW YOUR FRIENDS, ALFRED! You should be paying more attention to me—_me! _They're not good for you! You should ditch them all!"

Alfred stepped back a few feet, and then spat out words that really stung: "At least I actually _have _friends!"

Ivan barely heard everyone around him gasp. He was too busy sinking, sinking into his own body, his own feelings of self-consciousness about not having the best social skills. It was like a boomerang; he'd wanted to hurt Alfred, and he'd gotten something ten times worse thrown right back at him.

God—Alfred really did know him well, didn't he? He had to have known that Ivan felt ashamed about having no friends; that the guilt and blame he'd starting feeling about Yao the day he asked the boy out still haunted him. He wanted friends. Alfred was his only friend.

In Ivan's mind, having Alfred as a boyfriend was better than being friends with all the kids in the school. So much better.

The two boys suddenly heard clacking footsteps behind them. The familiar face of Mr. Green was seen by both of them, but instead of rushing to stop a physical fight, this time it was to address teachers' complaints of yelling outside their rooms. "Boys...what's this about?" he asked quite strictly in his deep voice.

Ivan and Alfred stopped dead in their tracks. Their eyes grew wide as they surveyed around for the first time, and realized that everyone in the hallway was staring at them. Alfred's mouth gaped open and shut like a fish's—he wanted to say something else to Ivan, scream at him some more, but he grew wary when he met eyes with Mr. Green. _I haven't gotten a suspension since last year, _he thought to himself, shivering. _I can't start. Not again. _

Mr. Green crossed his arms, and pursed his lips tightly. "In my office, now," he said a bit sternly, but there was a hint of sympathy, some compassion, in his voice.

Ivan and Alfred grudgingly complied. They didn't look at each other, but little did they know they were both thinking the same thing—_I don't want this to end up like last time._

••••••••

Alfred Jones and Ivan Braginsky sat in two chairs in Mr. Green's office—remarkably, the same two chairs they'd sat in last year after their big fight, and before their relationship began. Ivan looked down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers nervously, while Alfred played with the laces of his Converse shoes, biting his lip in an obsessive rhythm. Neither boys spoke to or even glanced at each other.

"So...boys, what's the problem?" Mr. Green asked, eyebrows raised. He knew by now the two boys were in a relationship.

Alfred was the first to speak. He huffed loudly, lifting his shoulders in an exaggerated motion, and placed his hands on his knees. "I'll tell you what's wrong," he began, though in a sort of hushed voice, not at all his typical tone. "Ivan is way too possessive over me! I decided to sit with my friends for one day—_one day!—_at lunch, and he's here complaining that I ditched him, and left him alone, and he keeps saying that _he _should be my top priority, just because we're dating! But I have a life besides him, too, you know!" Alfred ended his rant by slugging his shoulders back down, and puffing out his lower lip, looking purely frustrated. Defeated, rather.

Mr. Green nodded—Alfred was shocked he wasn't angry. "And you, Ivan?"

Ivan shrugged, his violet eyes large. "I don't know...I just feel like he doesn't love me like he used to anymore. It just makes me feel bad." He said this in a weak tone, because he felt bad for starting the fight now. He really didn't have anything to say.

The school principal folded his hands, and gave a flat smile. "You too have been fighting a lot lately, haven't you?" he asked gently.

Alfred mused. He hadn't really thought about it; but, now that he did, it _was _true. Last week they had an argument over a constructive criticism Alfred had given Ivan about a piece of art he drew. They also had a go at each other one time when Alfred couldn't take Ivan out to dinner and the movies because he had a big game that day. Even very, very little things seemed to set them off, like when they tried to play basketball together, but Ivan couldn't throw a ball into a net to save his life; or how Alfred had wanted to join Ivan's art club, but he could barely draw a stick figure without screwing it up.

"Yes," Alfred replied, "I suppose so."

Mr. Green smiled, widely this time. Alfred had realized in the past year that Mr. Green actually smiled a lot. He shuffled some papers, and glanced down at something. "Well..." he started, "I think you boys should try some peer counseling."

Ivan and Alfred both glanced at each other simultaneously. "What's that?" Ivan asked.

"Well," Mr. Green began, "We've realized that it is often easier for teens to talk about their problems, especially about romantic relationships, with other teens rather than adults. Of course, this program is for issues pertaining to those kinds of problems...not for bigger issues, like divorce or death, which should be handled by a proper guidance counselor..." Mr. Green took a breath; he realized he was digressing, and steered himself back on topic. "Anyway, it's a program we just came up with where we choose someone in our fabulous group of peer counselors, pair them with someone that needs counseling, and give them sort of little sessions." He grinned at the two boys, darting his eyes, seeing how they were processing this.

Both the boys were silent for a moment. Alfred then raised an eyebrow, and asked hesitantly, "So...like, you're gonna get a kid in this school to talk to _us _about _our _relationship?"

"Only if you want to," Mr. Green assured. "And, really, Alfred, Ivan, our peer counselors are a fantastic group of students—absolutely wonderful. We really chose the best of the best to be involved in this program. And if you don't enjoy the first session, you don't have to continue with it. It is one hundred percent up to you two."

Alfred and Ivan stared at each other a few minutes, looking into each other's eyes intensely, as they always did when making decisions regarding their relationship. "I say we give it a try," Ivan croaked out, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

"Really?" Alfred replied, his eyes narrowing into slits just slightly. He snapped his head away from Ivan's gaze and stared into space for a few moments. He then looked back up at Mr. Green, and said, "Okay. Let's try it out."

"Great!" Mr. Green exclaimed, slamming his palms down on his desk. He then took out large stack of papers, and began to shuffle through. "Alrighty then...I'll hook you up with a peer counselor right away."

He glanced down at the stack, skidding his finger on the paper, until he came to something and stopped, and tapped his finger on...a certain name, Alfred presumed. "Looks like I found your peer counselor, boys!" The principal proclaimed excitedly, smiling at Ivan and Alfred. "He's new to our program, and hasn't worked with anybody yet...he's an amazing kid, honest and hardworking—you guys will love him. I'll just send him down right now and let him know."

Mr. Green then picked up the phone, dialing a number, and said something into it that literally made Alfred turn as pale as a ghost, and Ivan's eyes go wide as dinner plates: "Mrs. Willows? Hey...is Kiku Honda in your class right now? Can you just send him up for one moment?"

_"What?!" _Alfred screeched, immediately jumping from his seat. Ivan and Mr. Green stared at him. Now embarrassed, Alfred slowly sat back down. "Hold up, Mr. Green...are you saying _Kiku _has to be our peer counselor?!"

"What's wrong with Kiku, Alfred?" Mr. Green was utterly confused—but Ivan wasn't.

"Mr. Green!" he pleaded, voice cracking. His face turned red, and he suddenly became very meek. "Kiku's my _ex," _Alfred whispered.

Mr. Green's smile faltered widely, and he looked as if he were about to say something, until Kiku walked through the door. "Yes, Mr. Green?" the Japanese boy asked very politely, until his gaze landed on Alfred and Ivan and his face was painted with an expression the couple couldn't name.

"Kiku," Mr. Green began, his voice cracking. If Alfred could've laughed, he would have done so, because the situation was so awkward. The large man cleared his throat. "Ivan and Alfred want to be in the 'peer counseling' program...we were hoping you'd be their counselor?"

Kiku, poor Kiku, looked back and forth quickly from Ivan and Alfred, to the principal, then back again. He let out a little huff, though not an angry one at all. "Well...sure," he replied.

Alfred held back a scream, while his boyfriend held back a helpless sigh.

"Good boy," Mr. Green replied, as if Kiku were a dog. "How about...Tuesdays and Thursdays, right after school?"

Kiku nodded his head quickly, his hands folded. Alfred sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed, looking very upset. Ivan still played with his fingers, gray brows drawn.

"Alfred, Ivan...is that good for you?"

"Yes," Ivan replied, still with his head down.

There was a prolonged silence as they waited for Alfred to answer. Finally, the bespectacled boy's stubbornness fell, and he let out a very, very long sigh. "Yes, Mr. Green," he said, looking up.

"Okay then," the principal said. He bid Kiku farewell, giving him a pink piece of paper, and sent him out the door. Now he was left to talk to the couple—who, indeed, were very solemn-looking.

"Alfred..." Mr. Green began, "I know this may be hard for you, but...well, believe it or not, this may turn out to be a little rewarding."

_"Rewarding?!" _Alfred suddenly hissed, whisper-shouting, making Ivan snap his head up. "How can this be in any way _rewarding?!" _

"Alfred, please." Mr. Green tried to calm him down. "Besides...didn't sitting at lunch with Ivan turn out to be rewarding for you?" He bit his lip, raising his eyebrows.

Ouch. Okay, yeah—big man Green did have a point. Alfred looked over at Ivan, and smiled at him for the first time in a while. Ivan grinned back tenderly, that little puppy grin that Alfred loved so, so much. "Yeah," Alfred said, but still kept his voice a bit on the cold edge, "I guess it was."

"Alfred, just give it a try," Mr. Green encouraged. He snapped his eyes to Ivan. "You too, Ivan."

He handed the couple a piece of pink paper each—the same he'd given Kiku. It just listed Kiku's name, and the times and days their sessions would be—Tuesdays and Thursdays, just like Mr. Green said, 3:00-4:00. It also had a little cheesy 'peer counseling' logo in the upper left hand corner. It was two kids, a white girl and a black boy, shoveling some dirt, to plant a flower, presumably. The girl was holding the flower, the boy the shovel. They both had stupid grins on their faces, and the sun above them did too. _How cheesy, _Alfred thought. The principal also sent them off with tardy slips.

Ivan and Alfred didn't even say goodbye to each other as they parted ways, heading to their separate classes. Alfred mused that Ivan was feeling dread—just like him.

As he walked to his next class—history—Alfred suddenly felt that familiar rage boiling inside of him once more. "Rewarding," he repeated Mr. Green's word to himself bitterly, "Fucking _rewarding!" _He kicked a nearby trash can to release his fury, as much as he could.

The principal had said this experience was going to be like last year, when Alfred was made to sit with Ivan at lunch, and love eventually blossomed...well, it was not. It was not, it was not going to be like that.

If anything, Kiku would just make their relationship worse. He'd destroy them. And, of course, that was Alfred's worse nightmare—for anyone to tear him and Ivan apart.

••••••••

"Ivan...we need to talk. Big time."

Ivan snapped his head up, and was met with Alfred. The shorter boy had his arm against the locker next to Ivan's, and was leaning against it, his face looking quite bleak, and serious.

Ivan grabbed his book bag out of his locker, along with any of the books he needed. "I'm assuming about Kiku."

Alfred nodded his head solemnly.

The Russian boy looked around doubtfully. "Well...the bell just rung. We can't just talk here—the school's gonna be empty soon. How about we go somewhere and chat?"

Alfred raised his eyebrows questioningly, still leaning against the locker. "The skatepark?" he asked without hesitation.

"The skatepark."

The two boys left the school and began to trek to their destination.

While halfway down the school's hill, Ivan felt a harsh, jabbing tap on his shoulder. He turned around, as well as Alfred. It was Natalya. Her face had her typical stoic stare, and she huffed like a bull.

"Where are you going, Ivan?" she asked harshly.

Ivan pushed his little sister off gently. "I'm just going to the skatepark for a little bit with Alfred, Nat. I'll be home soon."

Natalya scowled, darting her eyes from her older brother to Alfred, whom she glared at. Alfred gave a little smile and waved. "Hey, Nat...what's up?" he asked casually.

Ignoring his question completely, she snapped at her brother, "You better be," and stomped off.

Ivan shot Alfred a taken-aback glance, while Alfred just smiled. "Come on," he said. "Let's go, Ivan."

They arrived, and sat at their special spot. The spot where they'd confessed their love to each other. Alfred laughed. "Bruh...do you remember the first time we came here? You showed me that drawing, and we were all like—" he held out his arms in an exaggerated motion, moving them as if he were cuddling someone, and made fish lips, sticking his tongue in-and-out grossly and making moaning and smooching sounds. Obviously an exaggerated imitation of when him and Ivan had first made out.

Ivan laughed loudly. Alfred brought that incident up, and did that imitation every time they came here. "Yeah," he said lightly. "We were such dorks. Total virgins."

_"Right!" _Alfred exclaimed loudly. "And we still are." He then paused, and wiggled his eyebrows at Ivan, smirking. "Unless..."

_"No, Alfred!" _Ivan exclaimed loudly, practically dying from laughter at this point.

The American boy threw back his head and let out a hearty laugh. "Okay then."

The two boys sat in silence for a moment, their knees drawn to their chests, until Alfred, now in a much more solemn tone, said, "We need to talk about Kiku."

Ivan shrugged, placing his hands on the concrete, locking his elbows and leaning his weight back. "I mean...I don't know. There's not really much to talk about. We have to go to peer counseling, at least once. And besides, I thought you and Kiku were cool?"

"I thought we were too, but..." Alfred sighed. It was complicated, him and Kiku's relationship as exes. Even since last year, when Kiku has smiled at Ivan and Alfred holding hands in the hallway, signaling his approval of their relationship, it was still complicated.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess you're right," he admitted. "I mean...Kiku didn't really seem _angry _about having to peer-counsel us, did he?"

"...No," Ivan answered. In fact, the boy had just seemed...wounded. It was really hard to tell what the Japanese boy had been feeling.

"And yeah, you're right," Alfred said. "We _do _have to try it out. Big man Green's orders." He smiled quickly, and then it faltered again. "I guess it won't be _that _bad."

Ivan stared at Alfred's face intently. He knew that look in the boy's blue eyes. Dread. A hint of anger. Alfred _really _didn't want to do this.

"Alfred..."

Alfred raised his brows until his forehead crumpled. "Yes, Ivan?"

"Don't lose your temper with Kiku. Please."

Alfred's eyes grew wide, and he looked down, tracing the pattern on his t-shirt with his finger. "That's not what I'm thinking, Ivan."

"Yes it is."

Alfred stayed silent for a few moments, his finger paused on his t-shirt. He suddenly threw up his hands and let out a little cry, like nothing Ivan had ever heard come out of his mouth before. "Okay, okay, you have a point, Ivan...it's just—" he let out a frustrated growling noise, and then sighed deeply. "I really don't wanna do this."

He suddenly lay his head on Ivan's shoulder, cleary asking for a cuddle. Ivan wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and held him close to his chest. He could practically feel the heat from Alfred's face on his skin, though he was wearing a heavy sweatshirt. "It'll be okay, Alfred," Ivan reassured in a fatherly tone. The fatherly tone Alfred, most likely, was missing out on, sadly enough. "And maybe Mr. Green's right. Maybe it will help us out."

Ivan expected Alfred to vehemently deny this, but he just remained silent, letting his slender wrist fall on Ivan's waist gently. He then drew his head back, and looked up at Ivan, eyes a bit glossy. "Hey, Ivan?" he muttered weakly.

"Yeah, Al?"

"I never said 'I'm sorry' for that fight we had earlier."

This touched Ivan. "I forgive you." He kissed Alfred's lips tenderly. "And I'm sorry too. You can hang out with your friends and family as much as you like. Promise."

"Thanks, Ivan."

Alfred and Ivan stayed cuddling together for a while, deciding the best way to solve problems was to receive hugs and kisses from the one you love.


	2. The Core

**_Day 1_**

"You ready, Alfred?"

"...As ready as I'll ever be, Ivan."

The two boys stood outside the counseling door, both with pounding hearts and pink faces. They hesitated, each waiting for his boyfriend to open the door. Finally, Ivan was the one to find the courage to twist the cold metal knob, very slowly, and him and Alfred walked into the room for their first peer counseling session.

They both saw that Kiku was already there. He had his legs crossed, with the heel of his shoe resting on one knee; he was wearing a white polo shirt and small glasses perched on the bridge of his nose (Alfred knew those pair—they were his reading glasses). Just the faintest hint of a smile played on Kiku's pale face. He looked professional, like a very small adult. Like an actual counselor. Surrounding him was a sky blue wall, with several cheesy posters littering it. Among the sayings on them were: "Keep Calm: A Counselor Can Help"; "Sharing is Caring!"; "Be a Friend, Not a Foe" and others.

"Hello, Alfred, Ivan," he greeted, "Why don't you both take a seat."

Kiku seemed to be a very to-the-point type of person about this, and Alfred liked that. The Japanese boy instructed the couple to sit on a blue mat on the floor, back to back.

Alfred and Ivan glanced at each other, eyebrows furrowed, and did what Kiku said. He handed them each a marker and a large piece of construction paper; drawn on it was a big circle, with a smaller circle inside of it.

"This is the first exercise we're going to do," Kiku said in a voice that was somehow melodic. "I like to call it, 'the core.' Now, the first thing I want you guys to do is, in the larger circle, the one on the outside, write down what negative things you feel about each other right now—or, you can think of it like, what character traits does your partner have that you feel is holding you back in your relationship?"

Alfred inwardly raised his eyebrows at this. What negative things he thought about Ivan? He thought these sessions were supposed to help their relationship—he didn't see how _this _would be of any benefit to that.

"I'll set the timer for a minute," Kiku said, and the boys heard a little _beep. _

Despite Alfred's doubts, he touched his marker to his chin musingly anyway. _Too s__ensitive _was the first word he wrote down; then _possessive. _Before he knew it, his inward frustration grew as he thought about Ivan; mainly, how he'd been acting these past couple of months. The things Ivan did that made his temper boil. _Obsessive. Controlling. Too moody. Unsupportive. Self-conscious. Clingy. Never gives me personal space. _

On the other side of Alfred's back sat Ivan, who also was writing down his own adjectives, his own labels to give Alfred. _Uncaring. Selfishness. Hot temper. Always yells at me. Always angry. Likes his friends better than me. Pushes me away. Rude. _

The boys heard a low buzz, and they looked up at Kiku, who grinned. "Time's up," he declared. "Okay, here's what I want you to do now. I want you each to tell the other person what you wrote down."

Alfred was the first to react. His face turned red and his forehead crumpled. "Seriously?!"

"Now, it's okay," Kiku immediately said, as if he were consoling a small child. To Alfred's surprise, he turned to Ivan first. "Ivan? Do you wanna go first?"

Ivan's face flashed red, and he shook his paper a little bit hastily, and then smoothed back his hair. "Um...sure."

He started to read of what he'd written, in a sort of groggily tone: "Rude—hot temper—uncaring—selfishness..."

That really stung Alfred—he couldn't believe Ivan had used such a word. _God, and he complains that _I _don't love him anymore?! _He turned his head to give Ivan a sideways glare, sneering. "How the _hell _am I selfish when I literally—"

"Alfred," Kiku said, "let Ivan finish."

Alfred gave a low growl, loud enough to make sure Kiku heard, and put his hand up to his face, stretching his mouth with his palm so that it made a long sneer.

Ivan continued, though he'd grown wary hearing Alfred's growl. "Always yells at me—always angry—likes his friends better than me—pushes me away."

Kiku paused for a few moments to make sure Ivan was finished, and then he clapped his hands lightly. "Good, Ivan. Alfred...why don't you go next?"

Alfred was looking in the other direction, towards the wall, the sickeningly baby-blue wall, trying not to scream, or shout, or throw a hissy fit...or cry. He didn't want to do this anymore. He didn't want to read off everything negative he wrote about Ivan.

Ivan looked back at Alfred, grunting while twisting his head. His mouth was still in a sneer, and he seemed to be staring into space. He smiled lightly, and tried to pat Alfred on the thigh. "It's okay, Alfred," Ivan tried to reassure. "I won't be mad at you."

"Shut up, Ivan," Alfred hissed.

Shocked, Ivan turned back, eyes gone wide, and lowered his head.

Alfred remained in a daze for at least another moment until Kiku tried again. "Alfred...do you wanna go next?"

Alfred slowly turned his head to look at Kiku, his face blank. He let out a heavy sigh, and read what he'd written, exactly as if he were reading a list. "Possessive—too sensitive—obsessive—unsupportive—too moody—clingy—never gives me personal space—self-conscious."

"Okay," Kiku said again. "Good job, Alfred." Again, exactly as if he were a little kid. "Now, the inner circle...in there, I want you guys to write down all the things you admire in the other person...reasons you began dating them in the first place." He set the timer once more for a minute.

Now, _this _was a list that should make Ivan feel better. Since he wasn't facing his lover, he pictured Alfred's face in his mind, heard his laugh, his melodic voice which varied widely. _Beautiful. Funny. Handsome. Down to earth. Athletic. Sweet. Loving. Fun. _

Though Alfred still felt mad enough to fume, his temper slowly, quietly simmered as he began to think of Ivan. He thought about sitting at lunch with him for the first time, and the second time, third time, fourth. He thought about Yao's crooked, bloody nose, from when he'd beated the smithereens out of him—all in the name of defending and protecting Ivan. He thought about the way he'd laughed and joked with Ivan on the way back home from the woods, from the luminous silver lake, when Alfred had come to get him because Ivan's mother had wanted him home. He thought about the skatepark, the warmness of his back against the ramp, even though the day had been chilly—and their first kiss. How it had felt like fireworks in Alfred's mind.

At that point, it wasn't hard for Alfred to come up with a trillion words. _Funny. Quiet. Thoughtful. Beautiful. Perfect. Cute. Kind. Smart. Good listener. Amazing artist. My best friend. _

"Time's up," Kiku said, clearly noticing the boys were looking much happier. "Alfred, do you wanna go first this time?"

"Yeah," he replied in a soft tone. "Cute—kind—smart—funny—thoughtful—beautiful—amazing artist—good listener—quiet—perfect," he paused before saying the last words, "my best friend."

Ivan felt in a daze as Kiku thanked Alfred, and told him he could go next. Alfred's adjectives had made him feel so special. He looked down at his list; after hearing all that his boyfriend had to say, the sayings he'd written really felt flimsy and insignificant now. But he read off anyway. "Down to earth—athletic—sweet—loving—beautiful—handsome—smart—fun—funny."

Alfred laughed so suddenly at that. "Damn, Ivan—I'm beautiful _and _handsome?! And smart—boy, I haven't been smart in a _hot _minute!"

Ivan let out a hearty chuckle at that, glad Alfred was back to his nice, playful mood.

Soon the laughter died down, and Alfred turned back to give Ivan a gleeful, sweet grin, which the Russian gladly returned.

"So," Kiku spoke up, "do you see why that's called 'the core' now? It's because you're letting all the negative emotions you're feeling in the moment distract you from why you really began to love your partner in the first place.

"When you guys get home, if you feel ready, I want you to cut out the outer circle—all of the negative emotions—so that you're left with just the inner circle," Kiku smiled. "That's your homework."

He looked back at the clock. It was 4:00 on the dot. "Well..." Kiku stood up. "...our session's up. Have a good day, Ivan, Alfred." Alfred noticed how Kiku had said his name with a weird tone in his voice; he couldn't place exactly what that tone was. Typical Kiku. And, as quickly as the Japanese boy had said that, he packed up his things and was off—also typical Kiku.

Still left with their papers, Alfred and Ivan looked at each other. "Well, now we gotta report back to Mr. Green," Alfred said. "About whether we'd go back again."

"Right," Ivan said.

The two boys stared at each other for an unusually long amount of time, standing together so that their papers touched, and walked out the door diligently, in a single file.

••••••••

Alfred and Ivan walked tentatively into Mr. Green's office. Surprisingly, the large man was up and moving, seemingly busy; he walked hurriedly, with a whole stack of papers in his hand. However, he abruptly stopped when he caught sight of the teens. "There you boys are!" he said. "Right on time, too. Hold on a minute—I just need to go do something real quick."

When Mr. Green came back from running his errand, he sat at his large brown desk and folded his hands with his shoulders hunched; his trademark pose. "So, boys...how did it go?"

To Ivan's surprise, Alfred spoke up before he could. "It went fine, actually," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I liked the little exercise we did." He held up the large pieces of paper with the circles on it for reference.

"Cute," the principal commented, as if Alfred were a kindergartener that had just shown him a cute little craft. "So..." he drawed, raising his eyebrows, "would you boys consider going again? For regular sessions?"

Ivan and Alfred glanced at each other, again making a decision with their eyes. "Yeah," Ivan spoke up. "I'm up for it."

Mr. Green nodded. "Is this a mutual 'yes,' Alfred?"

Alfred closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and almost cringed as he answered, "...Yes."

"Great!" Mr. Green said. "We'll see you again on Thursday, then!" He then dismissed the two boys, told them to have a nice rest of their day.

After they'd gotten their things out of their lockers and zipped up their hoodies, Alfred and Ivan began to chat as they headed out the door. "That was actually kind of a neat exercise Kiku did with us," Alfred said.

"Yeah," Ivan agreed. "Kinda eye opening."

"Thanks for thinking I'm handsome," Alfred said, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. He smiled wickedly.

Ivan laughed. "You know you're always handsome, babe. And thanks for thinking I'm cute."

"Don't need to thank me. You're the one that's cute as hell." Alfred held open the heavy school doors for Ivan.

They continued to chat until they were about halfway to Ivan's house; they always came here first when they walked home from school, one reason being it was closer. "So? Are you free to hang out?" Alfred asked, nodding ahead towards Ivan's street, just a few blocks down.

"...Um, no. I have something I have to do," Ivan replied quickly.

"Oh. That's okay." Alfred thought about the piece of paper in his backpack. _When you guys get home, if you feel ready, I want you to cut out the outer circle—all of the negative emotions—so that you're left with just the inner circle. That's your homework. _"I actually have to do something, too."

Ivan cocked an eyebrow. "Sports?"

"Naw. Something else."

Alfred walked Ivan home as normal, bidding him farewell as he began to walk in the opposite direction toward his own home; something he rarely did, because he always went to Ivan's after walking with him to his house.

But tonight he had to do his homework. For once.

••••••••

Ivan walked through the front door of his home, smelled the familiar fragrance of his mother cooking something delicious in the kitchen, heard the familiar purring of the family's thin gray cat as he brushed against Ivan's ankle.

Ivan smiled, kneeled down, and began to coo at the cat. "Hey, Stone." He scratched the cat on his pink ears, his prickly back, his long, long tail. "Stoney Stone Stone." He'd been named so because Katyusha, Ivan's older sister, had insisted his fur color matched the color of a stone exactly; no one else could think of a better name for the cat, who'd been a stray, waiting by the trash cans every day for Ivan's father to come home from work in the evening because the man always gave him scraps. So Stone he remained. Ivan's mom, feeling pity for the poor cat, saying over and over he looked like a skeleton, had gladly welcomed him in. It was shocking that Stone didn't poof up overnight, he was pampered so much; it seemed he would always be a "skeleton" cat, despite the love, food, and attention Ivan's family had given him.

"Ivan, dear?" his mother called from the kitchen. "Is that you? Are you hungry? Don't worry, dinner will be ready soon. Do you want a snack to hold you off until then?"

"No, I'll just wait til dinner, Mama," Ivan said. "I have something I need to work on."

"Okay, sweetheart." Ivan looked over into the kitchen, saw his mother smile at him. He smiled in return, and headed up the stairs.

Setting his bookbag gently by his bed for once, instead of just throwing it in any direction like he normally did (and then later placing it neatly by his bed frame, when he felt like it), he zipped it open and dug through it until he found the large piece of paper, with the black marker on it, and all of the adjectives he'd used to describe Alfred. The good adjectives and the bad adjectives.

Ivan sat at his desk and pulled out some scissors from the little drawer. He huffed, taking a deep breath. He looked one more time at the outer circle, what he'd written about Alfred. All so negative. Basically telling him he didn't love or care enough, even though Ivan knew he did, he did—he just had a different way of showing it than Ivan had pictured in his mind when they first got together.

He took the scissors and began to cut it. Slowly at first, and then his tempo sped up and eventually he had cut it all. With all his courage, his heart beating strangely fast, he ripped it up and threw it in the trash can.

For some odd reason, in the back of Ivan's mind, he was reminded of when Alfred had given him that little note while he was in in-school suspension, the one that had his address on it, and how he'd ripped it to shreds right in front of the ISS teacher's face, and threw it away.

Ivan pushed that thought deeper into his mind as he was left with just the little inner circle. He looked around his room skeptically. _Where to put it, where to put it?_

He decided to keep it in one of the side drawers of his desk, right where he kept his art supplies. That way, he'd never forget where it was.

Ivan then slowly went to lay stomach-down on his bed, thinking about how much he loved Alfred.

••••••••

When Alfred was alone, and safe in his room, he immediately went to dig out the piece of paper from his school bag and a pair of scissors. He sat on his bed, legs crossed, and his hands trembled as he began to cut.

He cut out the outer circle, slowly but surely throwing away all the ugly, negative things he'd thought about Ivan. Words and phrases that made Ivan sound like a monster, though he wasn't—not in the slightest. Alfred realized that Ivan just cared about him in his own way. And—even though he _did _wish Ivan would stop being so overbearing all the time—Alfred knew he did it just because he loved him. A little too much, maybe, but Ivan still loved him.

After he was done, he threw away the spiraling white scraps and put away his scissors. He looked up towards his wall—and smiled. He knew exactly where he was going to put the remaining inner circle.

Alfred put some tape on the back of it, and looked up at the drawing Ivan had given him so long ago; well, really only almost a year, but it seemed longer than that. The drawing that Ivan had given him at the skatepark when they'd confessed their love. The one of him with the golden dirty-blonde hair, the ocean-blue eyes with a twinkle and a wink in them, the big white-teethed grin, the yellow stars. Alfred could see some of the red crayon through the paper, on the back of the drawing; _I love you, Alfred _it read.

He grinned, and taped the inner circle, the "core," right next to his drawing. He stood back to admire his work. Yes...it went perfect there.

Alfred decided to call that part of his wall, with the drawing and the circle, his "Ivan wall."


	3. Blast from the Past

**_Day 2_**

On Thursday, Alfred and Ivan sat down in the counselors' room for their next peer counseling session. Once again, Kiku was there, and once again, he looked very prim and proper.

"Now, I have a new idea for today's session," Kiku announced. "I'm just going to have you two sit in a chair, and close your eyes."

Glancing at each other, both thoroughly puzzled, Alfred and Ivan went to do just that. Ivan took the dark, almost mustard-yellow chair, while Alfred took the maroon one.

"Okay," Kiku said. "Now...I just want you guys to close your eyes, and relax...you can think, too, if you want; about each other, about something happy, sad..." Kiku's voice was soothing and low, and reminded both the boys of the voice the narrator always seemed to have in those meditation-guiding videos.

Kiku smiled when he saw the couple's eyes fluttered shut. "Okay. I'll put on some music that'll end in about an hour."

Once Alfred heard the soft music played, he was reminded of the ocean, of a swaying coastal breeze; he could practically touch the dry sand with his fingers in his mind. Just thinking about it made him flex his hands.

He began to think of the first memory that floated to his surface. One from long ago; a powerful one...

_The dirty-blonde five-year-old was awoken by the bright sunlight that shone through his window. He touched his chubby fists to his eyelids and began to rub. He yawned, and got up from his bed. That's when he remembered: he had school today! He loved school, his precious kindergarten class—loved recess, loved lunch, loved circle time, loved counting those little bears, and loved singing the alphabet song. The little boy named Alfred immediately leaped from his room and raced downstairs with a boundless energy that only a child of his age and size could possess first thing in the morning. _

_When he got downstairs, and into the kitchen, he was greeted by his mommy and his stepdaddy. But they weren't happy and grinning like they normally were; they looked a bit sad. However, Mommy tried to smile at Alfred, though pitifully. "Good morning, baby," she said sweetly. _

_Alfred smiled. "Good morning, Mommy!" He climbed onto her lap like he normally did and threw his arms around her. As usual, she hugged him back—but, even as young as he was, Alfred could still note that she held onto him startlingly tighter than she normally did, as though she thought her little son would drift away from her if she didn't. _

_Alfred looked over at his stepdad, Lawrence, still tight in his mother's grasp. Lawrence was frowning. He cleared his throat loudly, and nodded to his wife. As if on cue, Alyssa, Alfred's mom, looked up at her husband, then back down to her small son, and let out a huge sigh. _

_Little Alfred, now wary because of his mother's uneasiness, asked in a whining voice, "Mommy...what's wrong?" _

_Alyssa sighed again. "Sweetie..." She stood him up on the ground, and kneeled in front of him. "Me and Lawrence have to tell you something." _

_Alfred lit up, ignoring his mother's stoic face, her previous demeanor. "Am I getting another little brother?!" he asked, now excited at the potential prospect. _

_Her son's innocent kiddish attitude put tears in Alyssa's eyes. "No...Alfie—I'm sorry. It's something else." She gulped, and almost felt as if she were going to puke as she told her son the grim news—grim news a boy his tender age should never have to hear. "Honey...I'm sorry, but you won't be able to see your daddy anymore. He's in jail." _

_Alfred's face began to crumble. His Daddy? In jail? Again? No—no! Not his Daddy! He loved Daddy! _

_He began to cry. _

_His mommy held him close, and he pushed his tight fists against her breasts, sobbing into her neck. _

_She began to whisper into his ear then. Alfred, as he grew older, whenever he thought about this moment in the shower, sitting back down and face up on his bed at two o'clock in the morning, or whenever he walked away from that glass wall that was always between him and his father each time he went to visit him in jail or prison, couldn't remember exactly the words his mother had said to him, but he remembered it being something along the lines of: "It's okay, baby. I love you so much, Alfred. You'll always have me and that'll be enough. That'll be enough."_

_Alfred wasn't so excited to go to school now that he'd heard the news. He sat in the back seat of his mommy's car, numb, as he held his little lunch box and felt the press of his book bag against his car seat. Even his mother still looked grim; her mouth was set in a thin line, and she only glanced at the road ahead of her. Only Alfred's toddler brother Matthew was happy and giggling—he cooed in the seat next to his big brother's as he beat a toy maraca against anything, to make it make noise. _

_Once at school, Alfred's mother gave him his usual hug, though considerably tighter today. "I'll always love you, Alfred," she said in a hushed voice. _

_"I will, too, Mommy." _

_Once again tears threatened to stream down Alyssa's face as she drew back from her son, her hands on his shoulders, and smiled widely at him, mouth closed. She pressed her lips on his small forehead and waved bye to him as she exited his kindergarten classroom. _

_Alfred felt in a...weird mood the rest of the day. Not even sad, really, but just grouchy. Why his daddy? What had his daddy done _this _time? He was mad at him, at everybody—at the world. For the first time in Alfred's young life he felt rage instead of sadness, grief, or sorrow—because feeling angry was just easier than feeling the thousand different emotions that played through him when something like this happened. _

_At recess later that afternoon, while Alfred was playing in the sandbox, he caught sight of a little boy moving a red and black toy truck on the grassy ground, making vrooming noises with his mouth. He was playing alone, and was a few feet away from Alfred. He had silver-like hair that Alfred had never seen before, a large nose, and was bigger and chubbier than Alfred himself. But what he really noticed was his shirt: it was green, with a orange and purple monster on the front. Alfred could tell it also had wording on it, but of course, he couldn't read that well yet. However, he'd learned what the boy's shirt said when a teacher went over to the boy and gushed, "That shirt is so cute! 'Daddy's little monster'—adorable!" _

_Alfred had fumed when he found out that's what the boy's shirt said. His daddy probably bought him that shirt. Alfred's daddy never bought _him _shirts. _

_As Alfred continued to glare at the boy, his temper grew worse and worse. He looked at the sand he was playing in. He grabbed a pail and filled it to the brim with the golden sand. Alfred then looked back at the boy, playing with his stupid truck, that stupid truck his daddy probably bought for him too. He wanted to ruin his shirt. _

_Alfred stormed over to the larger boy, pail in hand. The boy noticed him. He began to smile, thinking Alfred wanted to play with him, though that smile faltered quite quickly once he saw Alfred's angry expression. He squealed and held up his chubby arms to protect his face as Alfred poured the pail filled with sand all over him. Alfred then pushed him down, getting grass and dirt on him. The ash-blonde boy began to wail and cry for help. _

_Soon enough, two teachers rushed over to the boys. "Alfred!" one of them scolded. "Look what you did to poor Ivan!" _

_Alfred didn't care. He just grew a smug smirk on his face once he saw "Ivan's" shirt: it was completely ruined, which had been his goal; it had dirt all over it, and grass stains too, and even some sand was still stuck to it. But most of the sand was in Ivan's hair—also in his eyes too, apparently, because Ivan was now crying that his eyes hurt. _

_Soon enough, Alfred was in a room of his school he'd never seen before; a big, serious-looking room, all brown and black and white. Definitely not like the rest of his school looked. He sat on one of the black chairs, still angry and red-faced. A teacher told him he'd been naughty, and now had to go home because of what he did to Ivan. That same teacher came back in with his book bag, his coat, and his now-empty lunch box. She helped him zip on his coat and strap up his book bag. _

_"Alfred," she began sternly, hands on his shoulders, "that was a bad thing you did to Ivan." All of a sudden, another teacher brought Ivan_ _in. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot, and he had a new sweatshirt on. This made Alfred smile inwardly. He couldn't wear his old shirt anymore. Mission accomplished. "You must apologize to Ivan," the teacher said again. _

_Alfred snarled. "NO!" he screamed in his kiddish voice. "I'm glad I ruined Ivan's shirt!" _

_Ivan looked hurt. He began to whimper, and clung to the teacher he'd walked in with for protection. This made Alfred seethe harder. _

_The teacher was taken aback by this. "Alfred," she said, "is _that _the reason you were mean to Ivan? Because you didn't like his shirt? What was it about his shirt that made you so upset?" _

_Alfred didn't answer her. He tuned her out—now she was mentioning something about how she herself used to be scared of monsters when she was a kid. As if Alfred cared—besides, it wasn't the _monster _on Ivan's shirt that made him ruin it. _

_But even he knew at his slight age it was easier to just let her ramble on, and let her believe something that wasn't true, than to try to explain—because, again, being angry was just easier. _

_His mommy picked him up from school soon after that. She was talking on the phone while driving, rubbing her head exhaustedly. Alfred was in the back seat, dipping his Chicken McNuggets into his ketchup, gleeful now because his mother had bought him a Happy Meal. _

_"What was I thinking?" Alfred heard his mommy say into the phone. "Sending him to school after his dad just went to jail. I should've known something like this would happen..." _

_Alfred, being young and oblivious, just tuned her out and continued to happily eat his greasy processed food without a second thought, waiting for Mommy to get off the phone so she could help him open his Happy Meal toy. _

_Like any little kid innocent to worldly troubles, and the repercussions of his own actions, he didn't think twice of what had happened at school, how much hurt he'd caused one small boy. All that mattered in the moment was his food, the fact that he was going back home, and getting his toy opened. _

••••••••

As Ivan closed his eyes, he heard Alfred shift in his chair, pull in his breathe, as if the memory that flashed through his mind was too painful to bear. Ivan mimicked his boyfriend's actions, knowing well that what he'd think about would be just as painful.

_RIIIING! _

_All the kids in the fourth grade classroom cheered as the recess bell rang. Well...that is, all the kids except for Ivan Braginsky. The tall, slightly heavy little boy with a round face planted a stoic expression on his face as he trudged out the door, following his classmates outside._

_As usual, Ivan sat at a white bench all by himself. He'd brought a book to read today, so recess wouldn't end up like yesterday, when he'd sat bored stiff, just staring into space for the entire half hour. So embarrassing—to not have friends, to not have anybody to play with. _

_Ivan did look up from his book periodically to watch some kids play a game of kickball. He recognized the kids right away—Francis, Mathias, Antonio, Gilbert, Alfred...the most popular fourth graders in the school. Ivan hated them. But, he continued to watch anyway. The game was, admittedly, kind of interesting. It was structured, which the boy liked: kick the ball, someone on the other end catches it while it's flying midair, the kicker runs to a base until their ball is caught. Ivan felt relaxed, almost content, as he watched—until..._

_WHAM! _

_Ivan felt something hard smack against his face, his nose. His whole head hissed in pain as he heard loud chuckling around him. He looked up, and saw a dirty-blonde kid with glasses and an ugly sneer plastered on his face inching towards him. Alfred Jones. _

_"Oops," he said, obviously very sarcastically, "sorry, Ivan." He grabbed the ball back, which had landed near Ivan's shoes, and began to step away. "Maybe if you'd been paying attention, fatass, the ball wouldn't have hit ya. Just sayin'." Ivan felt his heart drop as he heard everyone in Alfred's dumb posse laugh, saw their eerie smiles; they looked just like hyenas. _

_Ivan drew his brows together, though he tried not to pout his lower lip as he looked up at Alfred. He really did have a colorful vocabulary for a fourth-grader, didn't he? Ivan, for about the millionth time since kindergarten, god-dammit, glanced down musingly at his stomach that hadn't quite lost its baby pudge yet, and wondered if he was really as fat as Alfred said. _

_But something...something was different about today. Ivan didn't know what gave him the courage to do so—maybe it was all the rage inside of him, rage that had been built up for about four years straight now—but he somehow found the power to say something to Alfred he never would've dreamed of saying: "Why do you hate me so much, Alfred?" _

_Surprisingly enough to Ivan, this caused all of Alfred's posse, to quietly and quite quickly die down in their laughing. They all stared, stared at Ivan, yet not quite glared—at least not Alfred. Ivan caught something for just an instant in Alfred's face—his eyes went wide and his mouth gaped open just a bit, kind of like a fish's—but that look was there for just a second until Alfred sneered again. "Why do _I _hate _you, _fucking fatass?!" Alfred chuckled bitterly. "One, because you're a fucking baby...two, because you're as dumb as a box of rocks...three, you're fatter than a whale...and four, because you're a loser!" _

_Ivan cringed. He felt tears starting to gather in his eyes. _No, _he told himself sternly, _I will _not _let them see me cry. Not today. _"Seriously, why do you hate me, Alfred...I've never done anything to you!" he nearly shouted in a voice that threatened to quaver. _

_Ivan saw—once again, just in a flash—that face on Alfred. The fishy one with the wide eyes. Only this time his eyes—for just a split second—looked a little more tender. He began to stumble and stutter a bit as he spoke. "You...I don't need a reason to pick on you," Alfred spat. "You're just that much of a loser!" But yet, he spewed this quite weakly. As if he knew any excuse given as to why he picked on Ivan would never be good enough. _

_Ivan was about to open his mouth, about to say something more, about to stick up for himself one more time, until once again he was hit in the face with the ball. This time, all of Alfred's posse—grown uneasy during Ivan's confrontation because they hadn't known what to say, or do, without Alfred guidance—went back to howling like hyenas. _

_They soon got sick of picking on Ivan and resumed playing. Ivan felt his nose go numb and light, as if it were empty of something, and gingerly he touched it. He pulled his hand away and saw blood. Oh God, and there was a lot; it didn't look like it'd just stop once left on its own. _

_Ivan went up, and told a teacher he had a bloody nose, and asked if he could go to the restroom to clean up. He'd made up an excuse, saying he accidentally hit a wall. Once more, protecting a group of people who didn't deserve to be protected. The teacher asked him if he was sure he didn't need a nurse. Ivan said he was sure. The teacher let him go. _

_Ivan went into a school restroom to wipe his bloody nose. He held his head down just like his mama did when his nose bled at home, and stuffed tissues inside the nostrils. He was sad, so sad...he just wished they would stop. _

_But...on the other hand, Ivan was a bit glad he'd had the courage to at least try to stick up for himself today, instead of just taking it like he normally did. He thought of the look in Alfred's eyes, the expression on his face, when he'd asked the first question: _Why do you hate me so much, Alfred? _and also the second question. He tried to identify Alfred's mood when he'd made that face for a split second? Was it sadness...or hurt? The pity of it was that perhaps if little nine-year-old Ivan had been a bit older, than maybe he would've named Alfred's facial expression with more accurate words. Regret. Shame. _

_But—those were the only things Ivan could guess Alfred might've possibly been feelings. And for the life of him, he couldn't begin to guess why. Why should Alfred feel sad for _him? _Why should he feel any hurt? Alfred was the one that bullied him constantly! _

_Still confused, little Ivan trudged out the door once his nose had stopped bleeding. He licked his lips, putting his thoughts about his bully aside. He instead began to wistfully think about getting back to reading his book as he walked outside his school doors. _

••••••••

Kiku carefully glanced at Alfred and Ivan, in their chairs. He watched their fingers tap anxiously, watched their eyes dart behind their lids rapidly.

Kiku looked up at the clock. He had time to spare. With that realized, the Japanese boy closed his eyes, and took his own trip down memory lane.

_Kiku was so happy. _

_He carried his things through the wet green grass: a huge brown teddy bear, with a velvet red heart etched into its stomach and pink velvet paws; a bundle filled with an assortment of flowers (tulips, lilies, roses, daisies, sunflowers, and many others); and finally, an entire box of Alfred's favorite chocolates, caramels. _

_It was Kiku and Alfred's three-month anniversary. Kiku has bought all these gifts especially for his boyfriend. He figured he'd surprise him right before his football practice. As he walked through the grass, which was still dewy from the previous heavy rain, he couldn't wait to see the look on Alfred's face once the boy got his gifts. _

_Kiku sped up his pace once he got closer; thankfully, because the presents were beginning to feel heavy in his arms. And he hoped God would strike him dead that very minute if he even dared drop any of them—the flowers, the bear, or the chocolates. _

I wonder if Alfie got anything for me... _Kiku couldn't help but think wistfully. _Maybe some roses or sunflowers...or maybe even some cherry blossoms!

_Finally, the Japanese eighth-grader caught sight of the football field. He walked faster, now basically jogging. He looked around until he caught sight of a golden head of hair, one with a cowlick. Bingo. Kiku inched closer, face beet-red, trying to imagine the look on Alfred's face once he saw what Kiku had for him. _

_But...something made Kiku stop dead in his tracks. That girl...that dark haired girl (a cheerleader, by the looks of it)...who was that girl Alfred was talking to? _

_Then, Kiku realized slowly, to his own horror, that Alfred wasn't just talking to the girl. The older American boy was laughing loudly and puffing out his chest, made broad through his football jersey. The girl giggled, twisting her long ponytail with her finger to make an S shape. Alfred was touching her thigh lightly, and they both had their chests pressed against each other. _

_Kiku continued to stare in wide-eyed shock and shame, amazed that Alfred had not yet noticed him. Kiku watched as his boyfriend, his loving, caring boyfriend, betrayed his frail trust, piece by piece. He saw Alfred touch the cheerleader's thigh, and then her butt, and he even dared to press his hands against her boobs a couple of times. Whispering into her neck, telling her she was pretty, hot, sexy. It almost made Kiku want to vomit. It _did _make Kiku want to vomit. _

_Surprisingly, it was not Alfred that noticed Kiku's glossy stare first—it was the cheerleader. She looked to her left for a moment, giggling, and then went to turn back to Alfred—until she caught sight of Kiku, and her face immediately fell. She whispered something; Kiku thought it was "Oh shit."_

_Alfred's face fell too. He turned to the cheerleader. "What?" he questioned, and then he looked where she was looking and his eyes bugged out so much they looked as if they were going to pop out of his skull. _

_Kiku began to tremble as he locked eyes with his freshman boyfriend (well, maybe not boyfriend anymore). He was in serious danger of dropping all his stuff. But really...what did it matter, now? Alfred didn't deserve all of this stuff, not now._

_Alfred began to stammer. His mouth popped open and shut, like a fish's lips. "Kiku..." he began, in a strange voice that was husky. "I can explain..." _

_Kiku couldn't tell decide whether his face was probably white as a ghost or fiery red, because he felt both hot and cold. He wanted to say something back to Alfred, wanted to tell that stupid whore he was with to fuck off, wanted to curse and yell and scream and throw a fit and attack Alfred. _

_In the end, though...Kiku couldn't find the strength to. He was too numb, too weak. He felt tears gather in his eyes, and once he knew he was definitely __going to cry, he ran. Ran from that stupid football field, ran from that cheerleader, ran from the person he loved the most in this fucking world, besides his mother. Or at least, ran from the person he _used_ to love. _

_Kiku got inside the boys' restroom outside of the football field, littered in the front with empty popcorn bags, styrofoam cups, and half-eaten hot dogs, all from previous games. Gross. _

_Once in there, Kiku shook, letting loose all his sadness, all his anger, all his sense of distrust. In a fit of rage, he stuffed the teddy bear, the flower bouquet, and the chocolates into the trash can. _

_Kiku looked down the trash can. He felt that hot-cold feeling come back again and he swiftly swiped at some mucus in his nose with his wrist. All the good times he'd had with Alfred flashed through Kiku's mind. Sitting with him at lunch. Throwing popcorn at Alfred, his mouth wide open, so he could try to catch the popcorn in his mouth. Working on class projects together, sitting knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. All the hand-holdings, the hugs, the little perky kisses that came every now and then. It was then that Kiku realized he and Alfred never really _did _anything together, at least, not anything with real meaning—he'd only ever taken Kiku on one "date"; and that had been to the park, which was overrun with screaming children and frustrated parents. Kiku mused that maybe him and Alfred wouldn't have lasted much longer together anyway. _

_Kiku walked out of that bathroom, now calmed down, and marched away from that football field, from Alfred Franklin Jones—for good. _

••••••••

"...Kiku? Yo, Kiku!"

Kiku snapped his eyes open at the sound of his name being called. He looked up and saw familiar blue eyes, the color of the sky, the color of the ocean on a gorgeous early summer day—Alfred's blue eyes. He shook his head lightly, and looked up at the clock as he sat up. Oh shit—it was 4:10. He'd been caught up in his own head so much he'd completely lost track of time. The music he had playing had stopped minutes ago.

The Japanese boy thought quickly of something to say. "Well," he began, "that is all. Have a nice day, you two. No homework for you tonight." He tried to smile, but he knew it probably came out as a hard grin.

The three of them left, all in a wary, tired, troubled state.

Alfred and Ivan went to their lockers, got their things and went outside—all without speaking a word to each other. Alfred walked Ivan home, and, like Tuesday, he did only that, and then headed to his own house. The two boys only waved weakly as they parted ways, both feeling numb.

••••••••

**Hey, guys!**

**Sorry if that chapter was kind of a bore. I just wanted to give backstories for each of the characters, show their POVs, and to get some of Kiku's perspective in there too—by the way, look out for more of Kiku in this story. He'll become a center focus like Alfred and Ivan, too :)**

**I know it ended on kind of a sour note, too. But I promise the next chapter will be in better spirits :) **

**Have a nice day!**


	4. A Mother’s Love

**_Day 3_**

Surely, five long days was enough time for Alfred and Ivan to become comfortable again—become comfortable enough to walk hand in hand into the school counseling office and sit down, with untroubling ease, on the long brown couch across from Kiku.

"Hello," Kiku greeted with a smile. That small, slightly uneasy smile. "How are you guys doing today?"

"Good," Ivan replied.

Alfred stretched loudly, getting comfortable on the couch. "Swell," he chirped out.

"What about your weekends?" Kiku asked.

"It was good," Ivan piped up. "I didn't really do anything, except for sit at home and draw and read...oh! And my dad, my sister and I went to see a movie on Saturday. It was really good."

"Fun," Kiku commented, smiling. "And what about you, Alfred?"

Alfred turned sour. "Not so good. Me and my mom and stepdad fought like, all weekend. Almost got grounded—again."

Kiku frowned. "A fight? About what?"

The American boy snarled as he placed his hands behind his head. "I don't even remember. Something stupid."

Ivan shared Kiku's frown. Alfred always got into fights with his parents; and whenever Ivan asked him what they were about, he always replied nonchalantly, with an _I don't remember_ or an _I don't know _or something along those lines. It actually made Ivan uneasy. "Babe," he said, turning towards his boyfriend, "you didn't tell me that." He touched Alfred's leg tenderly.

Alfred tried to act tough and snarl, yet Ivan could see the true hurt in Alfred's eyes. Ivan knew his partner thought his mom and stepdad hated him, thought of himself as a disappointment to them, thought of himself as inferior to his little brother. "It wasn't a big deal," Alfred tried to bark, but it came out in a quavering tone.

A small smile, a bit pitiful, played on Kiku's lips as he wrote something down on his large yellow notepad. He looked up, brows now drawn. "Alfred...do you fight often with your parents?"

Alfred, his hands still on the back of his head, gave a dismissive shrug. "I don't know...yeah, I guess," he mumbled.

Ivan suddenly grew annoyed, angry. He hated Alfred's nonchalant attitude—now the bespectacled boy was picking lint from his shirt. They were here to get help! Alfred should tell Kiku what the _real _problem was. "Yes," Ivan butted in in a voice louder than he intended, making both Alfred and Kiku snap their heads up. "Alfred fights with his parents all the time."

Alfred stopped picking at lint, and glared at Ivan—for just an instant. Then his face fell. His mouth gaped open and then shut, as if he wanted to say something, then decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He then muttered weakly, "Lawrence isn't my father...so you can't call them my parents." That was it. That was all he could find to say.

"He's basically your dad," Ivan practically shouted, now looking at Alfred. "He's there for you more than your real father ever is." These words seemed to sting Alfred; the boy sat back and cringed. Ivan then turned back to Kiku. "You know what? I feel like that's one of the biggest problems in our relationship. Alfred always does something to get his ass grounded—hitting his brother, yelling at his mom, disrespecting his stepdad. He disrespects other adults too—his teachers, even his coaches sometimes when they've given him a hard time."

Ivan took a deep breath. Okay, he could admit that they were here to get help—but even he felt he was revealing _too _much. Next, he said something that'd been on his chest for a long time, but never would have dared to say to Alfred...much less _Kiku: _"I still feel like he's gonna get in big trouble, get someone hurt. I...feel like he's going to end up in jail like his real dad."

That was the straw that broke Alfred. He angrily threw the stress ball he'd been playing with and stormed out of the room, hands balled into fists. Oddly enough, though, his face looked completely calm—but a bit pale. "I need a minute," he muttered as he huffed out.

Ivan immediately jumped up to follow Alfred, but Kiku was quick to stop him. "No...it's fine, Ivan. Just let him take a break."

Ivan hesitantly returned to his seat.

Kiku sat back down in his chair and clicked his pen in a way that suggested to Ivan slight anxiousness. He then spoke. "Well...now that he's gone, we can have a talk, one-on-one...just for a moment."

Kiku paused. He grew a bit more casual, and uncrossed his legs. He set his pen and notepad aside and held out his arms and hands in an exaggerated gesture. "Okay, so, sorry Ivan, but I'm missing something here. Alfred's dad's in jail?"

"...Yes," Ivan clarified, a bit skeptical at Kiku's sudden change in demeanor. "You didn't know?"

"No," Kiku said, his tone surprised. He hurriedly picked back up his pen and notepad and jotted down more notes. "You know...that's a _really _big deal, Ivan...a parent going to jail can affect a child a lot."

"Yeah. I know." Ivan felt easy now because Kiku was now acting more professional; jotting down notes, speaking in that calm voice.

"How do you think he feels about it?"

Ivan smiled. Ah, yes...a common counselor's question. His smile fell quickly then. "Honestly...I think it bothers him more than he lets on," Ivan said. "Like, a _lot _more than he lets on. He talks so nonchalantly about it, but, yeah, like I said, he fights with his parents and stuff..." It occurred just then to Ivan that maybe that was what Alfred's fights with his parents were _about..._his father, anger at Lawrence because he was such a good dad, but the pity of it was that he _wasn't _Alfred's dad—Alfred's real father was a jailbird.

Kiku was about to say something more, until Alfred abruptly walked back into the room. His face was now stained pink, but still held no emotion; however, he walked in a brisk pace, the way he walked when he was _very _upset but didn't want to show it. Ivan felt cautious. "Hey," Alfred greeted, sitting back down on the brown sofa. "I'm cooled down now."

"All better?" Kiku asked, eyebrows raised.

Alfred said nothing, just nodded.

"Good then." Kiku looked up at the clock. "We still have about ten minutes left...Alfred, do you have anything you want to say to Ivan?"

"No," Alfred replied oddly quickly. "I'm good."

Kiku and Ivan just stared in silence at Alfred, as if to say _really? _Alfred grew wide-eyed and then huffed a bit. "Okay," he said, defeated. "I'm sorry for storming out on you like that, dude. It's just...I was overwhelmed. And Lawrence _is _a good dad to me. You're right." He shrugged his shoulders, and picked the stress ball that he'd thrown to the ground back up.

"Alfred," Kiku said. "Is that the reason you feel so much hostility towards your family? Because you have a stepfather, and your real father's in jail?"

Alfred blanched a bit. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean...I guess, yeah, that's part of it."

Kiku met Alfred's eyes...and gave a huge grin. A huge grin that said _I'm here for you _and _you can tell me anything. _Alfred met that grin, still with his hand down his neck...and smiled back.

Soon, the two spent the last ten minutes of the session, and then some, talking about Alfred's family...his mother, his little brother, the two father figures in his life (the good and the bad). The conversation went from basically Alfred complaining about his parents, their strict rules and guidelines, to Alfred talking of his family with sweetness and compassion. Ivan just sat back and watched. Alfred truly loved his family—it was evident.

Kiku finally dismissed them—nearly five minutes late. But it really didn't matter. Alfred and Ivan left the school, now happily this time. As was their usual routine, they stopped by Ivan's house.

They hugged, kissed, and then waved their normal goodbyes. Ivan turned to walk into his home until Alfred stopped him. "Wait!"

Ivan turned around. "I actually wanna hang out today," Alfred said a bit shyly.

Ivan smiled and swung open the door, his heart pounding fast. Alfred swiftly jumped up his front porch steps and followed his boyfriend inside. He planted another silly kiss on Ivan's round cheek.

The Russian boy touched the spot where Alfred had kissed him tenderly. He felt loved again...and so happy that Alfred was coming to his house for the first time in a long time. _It must be because of the session! _Ivan thought. It had been a good one, for once...and maybe that was why Alfred was acting this way.

He was so lovely to be around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

••••••••

Alfred felt gracious to be going back to Ivan's house once again; the big, old Victorian home that had once felt creepy to him now was almost as familiar to him as his own home.

"Mama!" Ivan called out. "I'm home! Alfred's here, too."

Ivan's mother poked her head in from where she always was, the kitchen—surely either cleaning something that was already clean, or cooking something even when no one was really hungry. She waddled in to see the boys, as was her normal way. "Hello, Alfred," she greeted her usual guest.

"Hey, Magda," Alfred said politely.

The two boys went about their normal routine; they went into the kitchen, and Alfred waited patiently at the table as Ivan went to the fridge and poured himself and his boyfriend each a glass of milk.

"Thanks, Ivan," Alfred said when he was handed the glass.

"No problem."

Alfred watched as Ivan took a long swig of his milk. Afterwards, he let out a loud _ahh _sound and set the glass on the table with a _clink. _He was left with a very prominent milk mustache. Alfred giggled, and reached to poke at Ivan's lips. "You gotta milk mustache, dude," he said, wiping it off with his finger.

Ivan blushed, smiling a little. He let out a gargantuan burp, mouth wide open, which made Alfred laugh loudly with pleasant surprise; it was the first time probably ever Ivan had ever been in the least bit improper towards his boyfriend—especially while eating. Ivan joined in with Alfred's laughter, blushing even harder.

"I'm sorry, Alfred, Ivan," Magda immediately apologized, walking into the kitchen. "I haven't got anything started yet. I was thinking cookies?"

"That'll be nice," Alfred chimed.

Ivan nodded. He watched his mother get out the things for the cookies: the flour, the eggs, the milk, the chocolate. She grunted as she lifted up a large mixer and wiped sweat off her brow as she got out a huge bowl. Ivan furrowed his brows worriedly, and jumped from his seat. "Do you need my help, Mama?" he asked.

His mother looked at him, gave a weak smile, but ultimately dismissed him. "No. Talk with Alfred. I've got this," she assured.

"No. You need help," Ivan insisted, and he went over to help her crack some of the eggs needed for the cookies. Alfred smiled warmly at this gesture. Since Ivan was going to be busy, he took out his phone and scrolled through—feeling a bit awkward now—as he waited.

Ivan helped his mother make the cookies. As he did, he watched her closely for the first time in a long time, noticed things that were familiar to him, though he'd never really acknowledged them before: the way her light blonde hair shone golden as the sun from the kitchen window caught on it; the way she dressed, in either a heavy cardigan sweater if it was a bit chilly, or a light floral blouse if it wasn't (as was today), and how she never wore an apron, mutely saying she wasn't afraid of getting her clothes ruined; the way her large breasts swung heavily back and forth each time she rolled, patted, or smashed something; the way she constantly planted a small smile on her face, which brightened her teal eyes and made the few wrinkles she had on her face disappear, revealing she was doing something she truly enjoyed.

Ivan suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of love for her, and a childish need to hug her. Shyly, meekly, abruptly, he stopped what he was doing and reached over to put his arms around her, feeling a bit awkward and immature because Alfred was there. His mother hummed, low and melodic, and wrapped just one arm around him and patted him lightly, because she was busy rolling out some dough. Ivan quickly looked over at Alfred to see if he had noticed—but no, he was busy scrolling on his phone.

"Thank you again, honey," Magda said to him. "It's nice to have someone help me out."

Ivan chuckled inwardly. When just a few minutes ago she'd insisted she was fine! Oh, the complexity of his mother was just enough to drive him crazy. "It's no problem, Mama."

"I haven't had any help since your sister moved out." Magda stopped abruptly then, and frowned a little at Ivan, drawing her brows together. "I miss having her around," she admitted frankly.

"I do to," Ivan told her sympathetically. Katyusha had moved out not too long ago, to live on a farm owned by the parents of her boyfriend, Eduard. Ivan knew his mother was probably unhappy with her choice—to move out so young, so fresh out of high school, with no job, growing up so quickly. But, in the end, it was Katyusha's decision, and there wasn't really anything his mother could've done about it. In truth, Ivan missed his big sister too—but it _had _been time for her to move out. And besides, Eduard loved her, and she seemed to be happy on that farm, living a mundane, housewifely life. Ivan let out a little huff.

Alfred had lifted his head, hearing this conversation. His eyes locked with Ivan's, and he gave him a flat smile. Curious, Alfred stood up from his chair, putting down his phone, and leaned to peer over Ivan's shoulder. "Whaddya guys doing?" he asked, feeling a bit awkward, like the odd one out.

"Almost done with the dough," Ivan said. He smiled back at his boyfriend. "You can help put the dough on the tray if you want."

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure...why not?" he got up to go help them out, once again a bit awkwardly and with a pink face.

Eventually, though, Alfred felt warmth in his heart as he stood by Ivan, brushing against his shoulder, smelling the special, natural body scent of him. He'd gotten silly and began to eat most of the cookie dough, sneaking it and popping it into his mouth when Ivan wasn't looking.

Ivan began to incessantly giggle, and swatted at Alfred's shoulder lightly. "Stop...if you keep eating the dough we won't have enough to make actual cookies!" He tried to hover over the bowl full of dough to prevent Alfred from eating it.

Alfred grunted. He leaped over Ivan's large shoulder and swooped in another bite. He popped it into his mouth, smacking his lips loudly. He smiled at Ivan brilliantly as he licked his lips clean.

"I hope you get sick," Ivan remarked, trying to be stern. But in the end, a low giggle escaped him again.

Alfred and Ivan had an amazing time that late afternoon; they both ended up stuffing their faces with cookie dough, and then eventually actual cookies, drunk more milk, and played some old board games in Ivan's room, old board games that they'd found in the attic. It was the best afternoon they'd had in a long time. Eventually, though, it had to end when Alfred's phone buzzed—it was his mom, calling him home for dinner.

Alfred blanched. He now felt a bit wary to see her again, especially after the big fight over the weekend. Even in the morning, before he went to school, when he'd spoken with her, it had been awkward and with a hostile tension in the air.

Alfred left Ivan's home, a bit sadly, wishing, just for a brief moment, that he lived in that creepy ancient Victorian house.

••••••••

Alfred walked into his home. He felt a sudden wave of hostility—though he didn't know why.

His mother passed him on her way down the steps. She attempted to smile. "Hey, Alfred," she greeted. "How was Ivan's?"

Alfred said nothing, just grunted and pushed past her. He saw her frown, saw her eyebrows draw together, though he ignored it.

He sat down beside his brother at the dinner table. He grabbed out his phone from his back pocket and began to scroll through it—though that had been against the family rules for as long as Alfred could remember.

"Alfred," Lawrence, his stepfather, scolded, sitting on the end of the table as he always did, "put your phone away. You know that's not allowed."

Alfred looked up. He saw Lawrence, giving him a stern look, and Matthew, his younger brother, staring at him, eyes wide—as if he were scared of his own older brother. Alfred rolled his eyes, huffed, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

The family dinner began. Alfred ate slowly but in large quantities, pushing food inside of his cheeks until they were stuffed full. He listened bitterly as his mother, brother, and stepfather carried on a conversation. A cheerful one. One that Alfred obviously wasn't invited into.

"I got an one hundred and ten percent on our last math test," Matthew boasted. "That's a perfect one hundred, plus ten extra credit points from the bonus problems. It was the highest grade in the class."

"That's great, Matthew!" Alyssa exclaimed. She gave Matthew a full kiss on his cheek. "Absolutely terrific."

"I'm proud of you, Matthew," Lawrence said, beaming. He ruffled his son's blonde curls.

Seeing Matthew get all the attention, seeing him get loved on by his parents like this, made Alfred seethe. "Literally nobody cares, Matthew," he snarled hatefully.

"Alfred Franklin!" Alyssa immediately hissed. "That was so rude!"

"I don't give a fuck," Alfred shot back. "Matthew brags way too much. It's obnoxious."

Alfred saw his little brother hang his head low ashamedly. Alyssa backed up her youngest son. "Alfred...he's just proud of himself! He's not trying to brag."

Alfred rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion, making sure everybody saw him do so. He abruptly stopped eating and slammed his fork down on his plate, making a loud _clink _sound that rang throughout the dining room. He got up from his seat. "Good grief," Alfred hissed, "I like it better at fricking Ivan's house. His mom makes better food, anyway. This chicken you cooked is too dry, and it's nasty."

This comment seemed to really sting Alfred's mother. She threw her hands up angrily, though when Alfred glanced at her face she looked ready to cry. "Then go stay at Ivan's house, Alfred! Eat dinner over there." She carried her glass to the fridge, and got out the apple juice carton to refill her drink. She slammed the refrigerator door shut after she did so. "Have _her _make you a god-damn chicken," she snarled, Alfred's nasty attitude rubbed off on her. _Or maybe, _Alfred mused, _her temper's just naturally as hot as mine is. _

"Alyssa..." Lawrence called. "...Alfred. Both of you. Cut it out, and let's eat."

Alfred—unable to handle his brother's face, full of shame and guilt, unable to handle her mother's red face of fury, her twitching lips, unable to handle his stepfather's pale face, with brows drawn—stormed out of the dining room. He slammed his plate to the floor. _"Good-fucking-bye!" _he shouted. "Leave me alone! I'm going to the living room."

No one even bothered to shout at him to come clean up his plate. Alfred staggered to the living room and sank down into a love seat. He heard not one peep come from the dining room for the whole rest of the meal—just the occasional sound of clinking silverware, though not a lot; it seemed no one had an appetite.

Alfred, now feeling guilty, gingerly poked his head into the kitchen after dinner was over. Only his mother was still in the dining room; she was leaned over, picking up the food Alfred had thrown to the ground. She threw the wasted chicken, broccoli, and pasta into the trash. She picked up the plate, rinsed it off in the sink, and dumped it in, along with his silverware. Afterwards, she swiped at her nose and sniffed, face very red. His mother looked as if she'd been crying. And it instantly killed Alfred inside to know his mother might've just been crying...because of something _he'd _done.

A haunting memory from that faithful time period when he'd sat with Ivan at lunch as a punishment came flooding back into his mind. It was after his fight with Yao, when he'd come back home after finding out he was suspended—again. He remembered his mother taking his electronics, and how he had, in a fit of rage, had the audacity to slap her. He remembered her teary eyes, the sound of her sobbing after she closed the door. Just thinking about it made Alfred feel sick. He remembered looking through the slits of the stairs, glancing his head down and seeing his mother sitting on the kitchen table, very close to tears. He'd done nothing to comfort her then. Didn't say sorry, didn't do anything to repay her for what he did. Alfred had to make up for that—right now.

Alfred saw his mother stumble exhaustedly to the living room. She sat on the sofa, knees planted far apart, as she hunched down and raked her hands through her long hair. The same color hair Alfred had.

Alfred felt a lump in his throat. "Mom," he croaked.

Alyssa snapped her head up then, her eyebrows crinkled upwards. Before she could shoo him away angrily, Alfred jogged up to her. He sat beside her on the couch; a bit far away at first, but as he smelled the familiar scent of her perfume as well as the cocoa butter on her hands and arms and heard her familiar breathing, he inched closer. "I'm sorry," he apologized immediately, voice trembling. "You didn't have to pick up that food for me. I—it was—"

Alfred wanted to say so, so much more. But he felt his heart sink down, down into his stomach, and his eyes filled with the water works that had been unfamiliar to him throughout his teenage years, for the most part (at least when he was around others—God _forbid _it if someone was unfortunate enough to witness the tough, troublemaking Alfred Jones cry). His eyebrows drew downward sadly, and he felt his lips tremble and his body go limp as he began to sob.

Alyssa's anger, all her fierce madness dissipated quickly as she heard her eldest son cry. "Oh, honey..." she cooed. Her slim arm went around him slowly, and she drew his head down towards her chest, rubbing his sweet thick dirty-blonde hair with her free hand.

Alfred felt so embarrassed, crying in front of his mother like some baby. Over something as petty as saying he was sorry! What kind of a kid was he? But, truthfully, it was about more than just having to say he was sorry, and the argument at dinner. Much more than that.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Alfred said quickly, snapping his head up, trying to wipe away his tears. "It's just...I feel so awful. About how I treat you, how I talk to Matthew...God, you must feel like I hate you."

"Alfred..." his mother said softly, her voice trembling as well. "Don't ever think that I don't know you love me. Or that I don't love you. Because I do."

"I do love you, Mom," Alfred answered persistently, drawing a bit farther away from her.

"I love you, too, Alfred," Alyssa said quickly. "I feel like I'm not doing right for you. Ever since I married Lawrence..." she paused. She glanced down at her wedding ring, and began to twirl it with her finger.

Alfred couldn't believe she was talking like this. "Mom, how could you think that you messed me up by marrying Lawrence? He gave me Matthew, and _he _was one of the best things that ever happened to me..." he said this meekly. He didn't want his mom to get all sappy for admitting he loved his brother; but it was the truth. "And I really needed a father figure after...my dad went to jail." Alfred was hesitant talking about his father, not knowing if he should even bring him up.

But his mother just smiled at him sweetly. She stopped twirling her ring. "I know that, Alfred," she said quietly. "It's just...you act so _hostile _towards them. I sometimes feel I made a mistake—that if it was just you and me again, it would be different."

"No, Mom," Alfred said. His face reddened as he remembered, for the first time all day, the counseling session with Kiku. "It's about my dad. Sometimes I feel angry about him being in jail, and I take it out on you guys. And that's not fair. I can't do anything about my father, being in jail and all."

Alyssa's face fell for just a moment, as trying to process what her son was saying—or, most likely, thinking about his father. Then she smiled and her cheeks turned pink. She ruffled Alfred's hair. "Aw...Alfie, I'm sorry you've had to go through this. I'm so, so sorry. But you're right. There's nothing you can really do about it—which is too bad." She wrapped her arms around him again and cuddled him close. This time Alfred hugged her back, and let himself be warmed by her embrace for the first time since he was very, very little.

"I love you, Alfred," she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. Despite himself, Alfred blushed childishly. The mother drew away from her oldest son, and studied him very, very closely, to the point where he began to feel embarrassed. "You're very, very mature, Alfred. Very mature."

Alfred felt that that was a weird thing to say at that moment, but he brushed it off.

After a few hours of watching TV with his mother, the atmosphere around them improved tremendously, Alfred went to bed. As he pressed his head against his pillow, he felt loved, truly loved, for the first time in a very, very long time.

Alfred cried himself to sleep that night, but not with the same sorrowful tears that he had last year that one night when he'd slapped his mother—with happy, joyful tears.


	5. Fathers and Sons

**_Day 4_**

"I want to talk more about your father, Alfred."

Alfred snapped his neck up at the sound of Kiku's voice. He then looked towards his boyfriend, Ivan, sitting beside him. The Russian had a small smile plastered on his face.

It was not even fricking _two _minutes into the session and Kiku already wanted to talk about his dad! _Jesus-please-us! _Alfred sighed. He sat forward on the couch, elbows on knees, and began to rub the back of his neck anxiously. "Yeah—I guess, Kiku."

Kiku took in a deep breath, and clicked his pen. "How long has he been in jail?"

Alfred sat back up, cupping his face in his palms as he rolled his eyes in a musing way. "Probably about a year and a half. He went in during the summer between ninth and tenth grade, so...yeah."

Kiku wrote this down. "How many times has he been in jail before?"

Alfred let out a chuckle—a bitter, ugly one. "God, how many times has he been in jail? I'm not no mathematician, or a genius."

The Japanese boy paused. He lifted his head up and crinkled his forehead. "So...I take it, he's been in jail a lot?"

Alfred nodded solemnly. He could see a small frown playing on Kiku's face as he wrote something else down. Write, write, write—he wrote so much now. Alfred almost liked it better before, during the first few sessions—when they didn't talk, and they just did activities and stuff. He didn't know why they had to talk about his dad right now. He thought this counseling was supposed to be for _him and Ivan. _Alfred didn't have the slightest clue what talking about his deadbeat father had to do with mending their relationship.

"Do you feel like you're...different than other kids, because your dad's in jail?"

"Yeah," Alfred answered, nearly shouting, starting to lose his cool. "Yeah, Kiku...what kid _wouldn't _feel different when their dad's in fucking jail? You guys all have good dads, good lives...even my own little brother has an actual fucking father, while I don't. Ivan...his dad owns a fucking organization—helping people get jobs. Won't you say that's a good dad? My stepdad's a fricking doctor. Antonio's dad owns a pizza place. Gilbert's dad's a lawyer." He pointed at Kiku, almost in an accusing way. "You, Kiku...what does _your _dad do? Huh?"

Kiku stared at Alfred, stunned, eyes wide and totally locked on him. He gulped, not seeing this confrontation coming. "My dad died when I was a baby, Alfred," he said. "But, if you really want to know, he was in the Japanese army, and a diplomat."

Alfred immediately froze. This time, his eyes were the ones to go saucer-sized. Kiku had stated the fact that his dad was dead so naturally, so calmly, like it was something he was used to saying. Like his father being dead was just a normal thing in his life. "Oh," Alfred said, feeling awkward and a bit ashamed. "I'm sorry, dude..."

"It's okay, Alfred," Kiku assured. "And to respond to the point you just made—yes. Those all seem like good careers that they have, though them having stable jobs doesn't automatically make them excellent fathers. It's about how they treat their children, how much time they make for them. But I see your point, Alfred." He wrote more down on his notepad. "You feel like your dad is inferior to them."

Alfred snorted. "Yes. Obviously."

Kiku paused, wondering if he should continue speaking to Alfred, or move onto Ivan. He decided to do the latter; Alfred looked like he was getting angry, and Kiku didn't want the boy to storm off again. "So, Ivan...what about you and your dad? Do you get along with him?" He smiled at his ex's current boyfriend. "I heard you say on Tuesday that you and him went to the movies over the weekend?"

Ivan poked his head up. "Yeah," he said, surprised that Kiku remembered that little detail he'd mentioned on Tuesday, during their last session. "With my sister, too," he added.

"Does he often take you guys to movies?"

Ivan shrugged, and began to fiddle with his fingers. "I mean...not really. He tries to, but he has to work a lot. Even on the weekends sometimes. But he tries." Ivan took a deep breath. "I feel like he'd rather be with my sisters, though. I don't know," he ended lamely.

Kiku studied Ivan intensely, as did Alfred. "Why would you feel like that, Ivan?" Kiku asked, his voice higher-pitched than it normally was.

"I don't know..." Ivan shrugged. "He doesn't abuse me or anything—" he clarified quickly, so that Kiku wouldn't get the wrong idea, "—but...I don't know. I don't feel like he likes me very much."

Alfred began to speak. "Dude, Ivan," he said, sliding his hand close to Ivan's. "Of course your dad likes you. I see him with you all the time. He loves you." He'd seen Ivan's father look at Ivan many times with so much pride in his eyes—something Lawrence never did with himself.

"Why would you feel like your dad doesn't like you, Ivan?" Kiku asked.

"I don't know..." Ivan replied, kind of regretting saying anything at all. And he really didn't know. Him and his father were never particularly close; mostly Ivan's dad just worked a lot, and even when he was at home, he never spoke to his son much, only at meal times and whenever they passed each other in the hallways. Sometimes they watched a movie or TV show at home together, but it was always something Ivan's father liked; usually police shows, very old black-and-white movies, anything Russian or Eastern European related, or documentaries—basically all the things that would bore Ivan to death (besides the Russian ones—those, Ivan had to readily admit, were kind of cool). But he would sit with his dad on the couch and watch them just to make his father happy. A few times, the two had went shopping, but it had been terribly awkward. Ivan felt like him and his dad had nothing in common. Yes, that was it. They had nothing in common.

Ivan told Kiku this. The small boy scribbled away on his notepad, and then looked up at Ivan with a quizzical look. "So, basically, you feel disconnected from your father."

"Yes." That was what Ivan felt exactly.

"Aw...you two have to have _something _in common," Kiku said musingly. With his pen held up to his chin, he said something with sudden insight that Ivan had never thought about before: "Have you two ever been on a trip before?"

Ivan paused. "Like...a _trip _trip?"

"You know...like camping or hiking or something."

Ivan thought about it, thought about where Kiku was going with this. "Well...no."

Kiku looked up, smiled. "Maybe you guys can do some of those things together," he said. "Maybe it's just going to a hotel together for a weekend. Just the two of you. You should talk to your father about it, and see what he says."

"...Okay. I can. I think he'd like that," Ivan replied.

Kiku looked up at the clock behind him. "Oh...it's almost 4:10! We have to leave." He began to pack up his things hurriedly, while Ivan and Alfred did the same.

While walking home from school, Alfred and Ivan began to chat. "So...are you gonna talk to your dad about taking a trip, dude?" Alfred asked Ivan.

Ivan shrugged. "I don't know...I'm kind of nervous too. We've never really been on a trip, just the two of us, before."

Alfred smiled comfortingly, and put a hand on his boyfriend's wide shoulder. "It's okay...I'm sure he'll think of something."

Alfred said that with such confidence—but Ivan was still worried as he gave his boyfriend his usual hug and kiss and began to step into his house (Alfred couldn't come over today—he had baseball practice).

His father's truck was not parked in the driveway yet—which, luckily, gave Ivan a little while to think things over.

••••••••

It wasn't until the Braginsky family was sitting down at the dining room table when Ivan's father came home.

"I'm home!" he boomed as he strutted into the dining room cheerfully. He leaned down to kiss his wife, who was standing at the table, preparing plates for her children. He greeted Ivan's mother after he did so. "Hello, Mag-da-lena..."

Ivan chuckled warmly at this. He loved how his father almost always said his mother's full name; and he always did so in separate syllables, so that it sounded pretty and elegant. Ivan saw his mother smile up at her husband lovingly as she asked him how his day was.

"Good," Ian Braginsky replied. He went to Ivan's little sister next. "Hi, Natalya," the father said, chucking Natalya under the chin playfully. He gave his daughter a little kiss on the cheek. Natalya scowled and wiped it off quickly with her hand, though Ian didn't seem to notice.

"Hey kiddo." Ivan looked up, and saw his father grinning at him at the other end of the table. The next thing he knew, his hair was being ruffled by a large, rough, calloused hand.

"Hi, Papa," Ivan said, trying to sound cheerful and smile, though inwardly he scowled. One of his biggest pet peeves was being called _kiddo; _another one was having his hair ruffled (unless it was by Alfred, his mother, or sometimes his big sister—he hated having his hair ruined). His father should've known this by now—didn't he realize Ivan was sixteen, for heaven's sakes?

As Ian sat down to join in with the family meal, Ivan waited for just the right moment to bring up the possibility of a trip with his father. He eventually found one; about ten minutes into the dinner, when everybody was silent. Ivan swallowed before he spoke. "Hey...Pa?"

Ian stopped eating and lifted his head up, his forehead crinkling, perhaps surprised at his son addressing him. "Yes, Ivan?"

Ivan twiddled and fiddled with his fingers—an anxious habit he had. He decided to bring it up slowly. "So...you know that counseling thing I'm doing? At school?"

Ian's face looked confused, his eyebrows cocked slightly. "No..."

"Honey," Ivan's mother butted in, placing a hand on her husband's arm. "Ivan's doing this thing with Alfred at school—it's called peer counseling. They have a counselor, who's a kid in their school. They meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and do little exercises and stuff." Magda looked from her husband to her son, smiling at the latter.

Ivan smiled back graciously.

Ian seemed to take this in slowly as he looked at Magda intensely. "Oh," he said. He turned his head back to Ivan, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate. "What about it?"

"Well..." Ivan continued. "I was talking to Kiku—our counselor—today about...well, you. He said we should take a...little trip or something this weekend. Just the two of us. We can go camping, to a hotel, or something like that."

Ivan's heart began to sink a little deeper, for he didn't see his father immediately smile. Instead, his brows crinkled together, seemingly in a doubtful way. "I don't know...I'll have to look and see if I can take time off work for that long."

But, alas, Ivan's mother came to save him—again. She let out a little squeal of surprise delight. "Honey, I think that's a wonderful idea!" She put her hand in her husband's, and then reached across the table to hold her son's hand. "A weekend out—just the boys. I think that'll be great!"

The sweat that had been on Ivan's brow slowly disintegrated, and his heart began to pick up the pace in its beating again.

His mother was his hero.

Ian contemplated this. "Well...okay. My employees are really good—I'm sure they can hold down the fort without me." He let out a hearty chuckle as he began to eat again. "You know what, I know this really good camping place, too. We can rent a camper and go this weekend. How does that sound?"

Ivan's smile was from ear to ear. "Good," he said, trying to sound casual. But really, he craved his father's attention, approval, and time. He couldn't wait to go camping this weekend—though it didn't really seem like the most exciting thing for Ivan; still, he was willing to do it just to please the man he loved most in the world. Besides, he'd never been in a camper before—_that _at least seemed like fun.

Ivan didn't really talk to his dad the rest of the day—but he studied him a lot. Admired him, more like. He couldn't believe his father decided to actually take time out of his weekend to hang out with _him—_his son. It made him feel so happy, so loved. And he was sure he'd feel those emotions on the camping trip.

The first thing Ivan did before going to bed was pack his things for the weekend.

••••••••

_Owwww. _

Alfred rubbed his sore shoulder, wincing with pain as he hurried over to his mother's bright blue car. He loved baseball, but man, it could sure be a bitch.

His mother smiled sweetly at him as he got into the car. "Hi, Alfred," she said. "How was practice?"

"Good," he replied. "I'm fricking sore, though."

His mom made a little _mm _sound and turned the key in the ignition. Alfred felt his stomach rumble, and, even though he'd chugged an entire bottle of water throughout the hour he'd been at practice, his tongue felt as dry as a desert. He decided to dare himself. "...Mom?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Can we go get some McDonald's? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Alyssa immediately let out a heavy sigh. She glanced at her son, sitting next to her in the passenger's seat. He folded his arms under his chin, pouted his lower lip, and gave her his classic puppy-dog eyes that were oh-so-tempting. She had to stifle a chuckle.

Her own stomach was curdling, so for once she complied. "Yes, I suppose."

_"Yes!" _Alfred cheered. "Thank you, Mom!"

"You're welcome, Alfred," Alyssa said. "...But," she added, holding a finger up and wagging it, "we have to get something for your brother and stepfather too."

Alfred groaned. _"Moooom..._but why!? Matthew's not even _with _us, and isn't Lawrence still at work?"

"No, he's home," Alyssa answered. "And Alfred, it's not fair if we take you to McDonald's and don't get Mattie something."

Her oldest son groaned again. "Whatever."

As they went into the McDonald's restaurant, Alyssa suddenly remembered something she'd been meaning to tell Alfred, but hadn't got around to it yet. She watched him closely as he sat in the booth across from her. He opened his box of Chicken McNuggets and his Big Mac, got out his large, greasy container of fries and poked a straw through his Sprite. She gulped, and, before he went to take a large bite of his burger, she spoke. "Alfred? I need to tell you something important."

Alfred took the bite anyway. "What is it, Mom?" he muffled through a full mouth.

"Well..." Alyssa didn't know how she should go about this. She decided to just get straight to the point. "Your father decided he wants to see you. This Saturday."

Alfred's eyes grew wide, his shoulders hunched. He swallowed slowly. "At the jail?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Alyssa clarified.

"...Oh."

"Is that okay with you?" Alyssa opened her box of chicken nuggets.

"I mean, yeah, I guess," Alfred said. "I haven't seen him in a long time, so I guess I should."

Alyssa crinkled her brows together as she took a tentative bite. "Honey, you don't have to if you don't want to..."

"No. It's fine, Mom." Alfred took a chicken nugget, slaughtered with honey mustard and ranch, and popped it into his mouth.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

The two finished eating, quietly, and then cleaned up their area and grabbed the bag containing Matthew's and Lawrence's food. They exited the restaurant.

A million thoughts were running through Alfred's frazzled mind as he took a sip of the remainder of his Sprite drink. What was he going to say to his father? How was he going to say what he'd been feeling without hurting his dad? _Should _he say what he was feeling? Or should he ignore the elephant that would surely be in the room as he looked at his father face to face for the first time in absolute months?

When he got into the car, Alfred decided to put his AirPods in his ears and turn on his phone to listen to some music. He put on his most melancholy playlist and began to drown in the sweet pool of low music.

He felt a comforting hand on his thigh. He turned to his left and saw his mother. She smiled warmly at him. He tried to grin back, though it came out rather weak. Alyssa patted his leg lovingly as she turned on the car and began to drive.

Alfred blew out a breath of air as he rolled his window down slightly, leaned against the car door, and allowed his music to become an escape for him.

••••••••

Rewinding the clock to just after four in the late afternoon, and Kiku was walking home from his counseling session with Ivan and Alfred.

The small boy drew his shoulders upward and hoisted up his bookbag as he walked. He swore, he almost regretted becoming a peer counselor—not because of Ivan and Alfred, in particular, but it was such hard work, though he only had two people to counsel; and plus, Kiku wasn't too big on having to socialize with people that weren't his closest friends, in really any circumstances. And, along with writing the school newspaper with Ludwig and Feliciano (which the Japanese boy absolutely _loved), _it took a couple of hours away from Kiku's precious me-time.

Kiku sighed. He supposed he was just an introvert in those ways.

He walked up to his small duplex home, smiling internally to see his mother's white car parked on the side of the curb. He was careful not to rile the neighbor's dog. The boxer stared at him with dagger eyes, chained to his leash, but luckily didn't bark at him.

Kiku opened the door and walked inside. He scuffed his shoes carefully on the mat, making sure to get rid of all the dirt before he neatly took off his sneakers and placed them carefully next to where the other shoes were. His mother was sitting on the couch, reading a book.

She glanced up. Kiku saw she still wore her work clothes—a white, long-sleeved blouse along with thick black pants. "Hello, Kiku," she greeted in her hushed, soft voice. "How was school today?"

"Good." He paused, though, once he saw his mother staring at him—or rather, behind him. Kiku looked to the floor to see what had caused such a reaction from her. A small leaf that had probably been stuck to Kiku's sneaker had accidentally gotten into the house. He quickly opened the door to rid of it immediately.

His mother smiled warmly at him once he did so, and had closed the door. "Thank you, Kiku."

"You're welcome."

Sakura Honda stared at the clock intently. "I should be getting dinner ready soon—are you hungry?"

"Yes, Mom."

With that, she began to prepare for dinner. Kiku sat at the kitchen table to wait, and worked on some math homework while doing so. Every so often, however, he glanced over at his mother, slaving over the kitchen to make a meal really fit for much more than two people.

His momma was a hard worker; Kiku knew that. She worked as a secretary at a local therapist's office. Then she came home and worked some more—worked on raising a very mature, very smart teenage boy. Kiku's mother loved her son. She rarely hugged or kissed him, or even said the words _I love you _to him, but it was her eyes, her soft smiles, the hair ruffles, the gentle touches on the shoulder that came every now and then that told Kiku he was loved, very much so.

Warily, out of the blue, Kiku glanced at his father's huge picture in the living room. It was of him in his military uniform, the Japanese flag standing proudly behind him. Surrounding the golden-framed photo were authentic Japanese cherry blossoms—Kiku's dad's favorite flowers (or so Sakura always claimed). Kiku's mother cared for those cherry blossoms almost obsessively, and bought new ones when they eventually withered and died.

When the food was ready, Kiku packed up his homework and grabbed his plate, bowl, and his glass of water. He closed his eyes, joined hands with his mother as he heard her say grace, as she did every night at dinner.

"...And Lord, please protect our dear Ren. Amen." Ren was Kiku's father, and Sakura's late husband. Kiku couldn't think of a dinner where she didn't bless him.

"Amen." And with that, Kiku was allowed to dig in to his authentic Japanese dinner. Everything smelled so good, and tasted just the same, as usual. He and Sakura ate mostly with chopsticks, as they did every evening. Sakura always said Kiku's father would've wanted it that way.

Kiku's mom began a conversation. "So, Kiku," she began, taking a bite of her rice, "how did that peer counseling go?"

"It went good," Kiku said enthusiastically. "I really believe I'm helping them out." He took a small sip of water. "You know...one of the kids I'm counseling for, his father is in jail."

Sakura furrowed her eyebrows at her son. "Really? Well, what did you talk about with him?"

Kiku shrugged. "We just talked about how it makes him feel, and things like that."

His mother stared at him intensely—a little too intensely, Kiku thought. "That's nice," she finally came up with.

Kiku wouldn't have dared mention to his mother that the kid he was talking about was actually his ex-boyfriend. In fact, his mother had no idea he'd ever had a boyfriend. He wondered what she would do if she ever found out.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to weekend plans. "What do you think you'll be doing this weekend, Kiku? Anything with any friends?"

Kiku shook his head. "Nope. Ludwig's been out on vacation all week and won't be back until Sunday...and Feliciano has to catch up on all the missing assignments he didn't do _while _Ludwig has been gone." Kiku added, "Ludwig has to help Feliciano with _all _his work. He's basically Feli's one vice."

This earned a hearty chuckle from Sakura. Her red lips glistened as she smiled. "Okay then," she said. "That's quite nice, actually, because I was thinking we could go see your father...perhaps on Saturday?"

Kiku's face fell for just a second. "See your father" really was the code phrase for going to his dad's grave. He in truth had mixed feelings about going to that cemetery. But he said he'd go anyway, just to make his mother happy. Plus, he could pick out some nice flowers at the store to put on his grave. That was always a fun part.

"Okay, Kiku," Sakura said, smiling again. She got up to clear the silverware, dishes, and glasses from the table and put them into the sink. After she did so, she walked back into the living room, and on the way she gave Kiku the slightest squeeze on the shoulder with her slim manicured hand.

He grabbed his bookbag and headed upstairs. As he did so, he passed by his father's huge golden portrait, hung up so high, so formally. Kiku paused, and attempted to touch it gingerly with his fingers; but though it was so huge, it seemed so delicate, like it would fall and break at the slightest movement, so Kiku quickly removed his fingers. So he was just left to stare at it intensely.

"I love you, Dad," Kiku muttered quietly before he quickly shuffled up the stairs to his room.


	6. The Camping Trip

**_Saturday_**

On Saturday morning, Ivan awakened to a soft rub on his shoulder. "Ivan? Ivan, dear, time to wake up."

Grimacing, annoyed that his peaceful sleep had been disrupted, Ivan out a moan. "Mm...no...too tired...leave me alone..."

Magda chuckled. Her son was by no means a morning person. "Ivan, you have to get up if you want to go camping with your father."

Ivan, boldly but tiredly, jerked his head up from his pillow. That was right—today he was going camping with his papa! His attitude changed dramatically; his eyes went wide as he rubbed them, and he yawned sleepily, covering his mouth with his hand. Ivan looked at his mother; indeed, it must have been _quite _early in the morning, because she still had her robe on, and her hair was still untouched and unruly. "Okay," Ivan finally complied. "I'll be down in a minute."

His mom smiled, patted his leg, and exited his room.

Ivan yawned again. He sat in his bed exhaustedly for a few minutes, blinking and adjusting his eyes to the bright sunlight that shone in through his window. Eventually, he threw the covers off his sleepy body, got some clothes from his drawers, and trudged down the hallway and to the bathroom.

Ivan got ready for the day; he brushed his teeth and his hair (trying desperately to comb out the few wavy curls that tried to poke through, but to little avail; Alfred and everybody else always said his curls were cute, but Ivan hated them), applied some deodorant, put on a white tank top with brown cargo shorts, and threw on a camo hoodie over it. On his feet he put on worn socks. He added just a dash of cologne to complete his attire for the day.

He trekked down the stairs, anxious to see his father's face. He did; his papa was already sitting at the dining table, eating a large breakfast that Magda surely cooked. When Ian looked at his son, he immediately brightened. "There's my boy!" he called out excitedly. Before Ivan could say anything back, his dad got up from his seat, went up to Ivan, and hugged him very tightly.

Ivan tried to wrap his arms around his dad, but he felt like he was going to suffocate. His father had never hugged him this tightly before. The feel of his papa's burly arms and huge chest around his torso was too much for Ivan, so he, almost regrettedly, felt very relieved when his father finally pulled him away.

Ivan took in a deep, deep breath, like one does when they've just poked their heads out from underwater after they'd been submerged for an extended period of time. He huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath again.

Magda laughed hysterically as she watched this. "Ian, watch out! You almost suffocated poor Ivan!"

_Yeah, damn right, _Ivan thought as he finally began to breathe normally again. He sat down at the table, and joined his father.

Ian was clearly very happy, Ivan could readily tell that. His light violet eyes that he'd given to his son were brighter, and he had a childlike smile on his otherwise rather plain face. Ivan even heard him humming a bit as he flipped through the newspaper.

"Your father's so excited," Magda said to Ivan as she set down his plate in front of him. She smiled brilliantly, and ruffled Ivan's hair. "You should have seen him last night—making plans on what you two were going to do over the weekend at the camping site."

Ivan smiled as he began to eat. Seeing his father's excitement and enthusiasm was rubbing off on him, and he started to feel the same.

After the two finished eating, they both carried down their suitcases and bags. Magda, hustling and bustling, gushed from delight and demanded to take a photo of Ivan and Ian. Afterwards, she kissed them both goodbye and was about to send them off when Natalya walked into the room.

Her platinum blonde hair disheveled, Natalya rubbed at her eyes, grimacing with tiredness just as Ivan had when he first woke up. She looked at her father and Ivan—obviously all packed and ready to go. "Where are Papa and Ivan going?" she demanded.

Magda furrowed her brows lightly. "Natalya, sweetie—your father and your brother are going camping this weekend. They'll be back tomorrow," she reassured.

Ivan winced and he already knew what was coming when Natalya hissed, "Why can't I go too?"

Magda tried to comfort her daughter. "It's just the boys, dear—just calm down. They'll be back tomorrow."

Natalya stared at her father, and then even longer at her brother, sneering her upper lip. She smoldered, stamping her foot with anger as she stormed out of the kitchen doorway.

Ivan and Ian glanced at each other for a little while, and then shrugged it off as they headed out the door.

Ivan looked at his feet as he walked—until he saw a shadow reflecting off the driveway that looked a bit large. He lifted his eyes and stared at the camper his father had promised.

"You like it?" Ivan's father asked, chuckling a bit as he saw his son's sheer disbelief.

"Yeah," Ivan muttered dismissively, still keeping his eyes on the camper that was a lot bigger than he'd thought it would be.

The two boys climbed inside. Ivan's eyes continued to become as big as saucers as he looked at the interior of the camper in pure amazement. Of course, it had the driver's seat and the passenger's seat, which were made of a stylish brown leather, the same color as the exterior of the camper. But, in addition, it also had a little lounging area, with a long white seat; it even had a tiny kitchen with a fridge and a small table. When Ivan looked into the back, he could also see a toilet area and a bedroom. Ivan wondered in astonishment how much money his papa must've had to pay to rent it.

"Pretty sweet, huh?" Ivan's dad asked jokingly as he went up behind his son and patted his shoulder, hard. Ivan saw his dad move from his side to the driver's area, and sat down, poking his keys into the ignition. The camper made a low rumbling sound as it started up.

Instead of the passenger seat, Ivan immediately went to go sit on the white seat. He knew the first thing he was going to do, the first thing he wanted to do. He pulled a blanket his father had placed there up to his knees comfortably, and, hunching his knees close to his chest so his papa couldn't see what he was doing, he placed his sketchbook in between his chest and his knees and began to draw.

"Getting cozy there, Ivan?" Papa asked him, turning his head around slightly.

"Yeah, Pa," Ivan called out happily. He suddenly felt very meek and humbled—so full of love for his father. This loving, caring man who joked with his son, took his hard-earned money out of his pocket for his son (when it really wasn't necessary), wanted to spend time with his son, and just tried to be the best father he could be. "Thank you, Papa. For taking me on this trip."

Ian paused for a few seconds, and began to drive. "You don't need to thank me, Ivan," he said, in a quieter tone than usual.

Grinning kiddishly, Ivan continued to put pencil strokes on his paper to made beautiful artwork. He took his phone and headphones out and put on some music, just to get the full experience.

Ivan couldn't have felt happier in that moment with his art, his music, the cozy feel of the blanket on his legs, the warm sunlight shining through the window to brighten his surroundings, and, most of all, his father driving low and rumbly to wherever they were going to go.

••••••••

Ivan hated fishing.

It was just so...boring. You barely even caught anything. And, even when you did, nine times out of ten you had to throw it back because it couldn't be eaten, the reasons being that either the fish was too small or just due to the water being nasty. But, for some crazy reason, Ivan's father loved it.

Ivan sat on the edge of the deck in complete and utter boredom, grasping his fishing pole ever-so-gently in his hands, just about ready to pass out from the lack of stimulation. He thought it was insane that his father could sit next to him, still humming and still completely awake.

Ivan gazed around the camping site in a desperate attempt to keep his mind entertained. Admittedly, the site was extraordinarily beautiful. The trees were dark green, tall, and pretty. There was a gorgeous patch of flowers over to the left by the woods (Ivan grew excited when he first saw this—new drawing inspiration!); there was a little log spot to build a fire, as well as a grill; the lake was an impeccable dark blue, and waved just slightly due to the mild wind that accompanied the weather. Even the day itself was perfect—it was one of those days where the sky looked like something out of a painting; perfectly bright blue and cloudless, with the radiant liquid sun shining in the center of it.

Ivan would have been really, really happy, just to see all this beauty before him—if he hadn't been _fishing..._

He jerked his head to his left when he heard his father make a little noise. Ian pointed out towards the water, a small smile playing on his lips. Ivan looked curiously out into the lake, to see what had riled his father so much. But, as soon as he did, his papa let out a sigh.

"Aw...thought I'd caught one for a second," Ian said, then huffed a bit.

Ivan grunted, hoping this would subliminally tell his father that he was getting bored, and they should go do something else. But, instead, Ian drew back his fishing rod, and then swung it back into the water, towards another direction, perhaps hoping to find some fish over there.

So that definitely meant they _wouldn't _be stopping soon.

Ivan copied his father's actions. It _would _have been kind of exciting to catch one—just a little bit. He liked looking at animals, up close and personal.

Brushing that thought from his mind (even knowing himself for a certain fact that there would be absolutely _nothing _that would happen to make fishing _fun—_unless, of course, him and his papa did anything short of catching a fricking Great White Shark, for Christ's sakes), Ivan eased just a tiny bit of his boredom by studying his father, intensely, for the first time probably forever.

Ivan had his father's violet eyes and big nose, but his papa's face was leaner; the older man's jawline was sharp and strong, his cheekbones high. Ivan could see his dad's temples moving slightly as he chewed on something—gum, most likely. Another difference between him and his father that Ivan noticed were the man's eyebrows; they were dark gray and thick, and furrowed together just slightly as he concentrated intensely on the lake, and his fishing rod. He had ashy hair like Ivan too—though his was a bit darker; Ivan thought that that was perhaps due to his age. Ian's shoulders were very broad, like Ivan's; they were hunched just slightly and were framed by a large, wide chest, and long, strong legs which were covered by darker hairs than those on his head.

Ivan grew a bit meek and timid as he realized his father was better looking than he was, even at his rather old age. Had girls liked his father in high school? What had made his father choose Ivan's mother, specifically, to date and then to marry, when surely there were many other admiring females waiting just outside of his doorstep? He probably hadn't been the social outcast of his school, like his son was. No—of course he hadn't. Ian Braginsky had been a wrestler when he was in high school. An athlete—like Alfred.

Ivan had his chin cupped into his palm as he watched his father musingly, tiredly. He felt himself grow more and more sleepy as he softly closed his eyes, the last thing he saw being the bright, bright sunlight saying sweet dreams to him as he fell into the land of a much-needed nap.

Of course, it didn't last long, however, for Ian patted his son's shoulder lightly when he realized the boy had dozed off. "Ivan?" he called. "Ivannnn..."

The Russian teen's eyelids slowly fluttered open. He blinked a few times, momentarily confused, and then looked up at his father. The man gave a little grin. "You fell asleep there for a second, buddy," he said. The pole Ivan had in his hands was limping towards the lake; his father swiftly pulled it back up. "Your pole almost fell into the water."

Ivan shook his head back to reality. Crap—he _had _fallen asleep! He looked up at his father's face once more. The man had a certain look plastered on—sadness. Disappointment, perhaps. Ian looked from the lake to his son, to his pole, and then back again. He sighed. "Well...we've been out here for quite a while. I doubt we'll catch anything." He looked back down at his pole, and then, miracle of miracles, he drew the tip back in and started packing up.

Ivan never thought he'd see the day. _Thank God, _he couldn't help by think inwardly, though he felt a bit guilty for doing so. He copied his father's actions, graciously.

At that point, the sky was just beginning to turn a beautiful purple-orange as night approached, and the air was getting a bit chilled, so the boys began starting up a fire, along with the grill so they could cook some barbecue.

After the fire was done, Ivan sat on a log and watched it; the sparky red-orange flames, the ashes and embers crackling up by the corners. It was beautiful. Suddenly growing extraordinarily hot, Ivan took off his camo hoodie so that he was left with just his tank top on. He covered his lap and calves with the hoodie and sat back, hunched, letting himself be warmed by the natural heat of the fire.

Soon the food was ready. His father had cooked hamburgers, hot dogs, some chicken and some ribs. He'd even brought along a container of potato salad, a can of baked beans, and had made some French fries using a fryer. _Alfred would go crazy for this. All his favorite foods, _Ivan thought as he loaded up his plate.

Ivan sat back down on his log. He bit into a burger first. The edges were dark and tasted like charcoal, and the middle was pinker than he would've liked. But he ate it; one, because he was hungry, and two, he didn't want to disappoint his papa again. He'd already done enough of that when he'd fallen asleep while fishing.

He finished the plate, though everything on it had that same charcoal-like taste as the burger had—even the potato salad and beans. He couldn't help but long for his mama's good homemade cooking as he chugged down a can of Pepsi to try to rid his mouth of the taste.

Afterwards, to Ivan's delight, he found out his father had brought along some supplies to make s'mores. Ivan stuck a marshmallow on a stick and held it close—but not too close—to the crackling flames. _I least I can make _this _how I want... _

He roasted the soft marshmallow until it was crisp and brown—perfect. Ivan gingerly stuck it in between the chocolate and graham crackers and took a bite. _Mmmm. _Something sweet. _This _was good food.

The teen looked to his right to see his father roasting his own marshmallow. It was quite comical; the man stuck the sweet white treat straight into the flames and then drew his stick back quickly. The marshmallow came out black as coal. He noticed Ivan staring at him, and smiled. "Nice and crisp," he said. "Perfect." He then let out a loud chuckle.

Ivan chuckled too, but didn't say anything back. He ate two more s'mores, cooked to his version of brown perfection, until he was basically stuffed to the brim. The two Braginsky boys sat on the logs, continued to be warmed by the fire, and exchanged occasional light conversation until it was well into the night.

Ivan became very tired quite quickly (the combination of the heat from the fire and his full stomach certainly contributing to that), but he waited until his father yawned and then got up to follow him. He exhaustedly helped his father pack up the things, and finally they headed into the camper to sleep.

Since the camper only had one bedroom, father and son had to share a bed. Face red, Ivan meekly changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and smoothed back his hair to ensure it wouldn't be _too _unruly in the morning. It felt weird getting ready for bed with his father; Ivan had never done something like this before. It felt rather cramped and tight. It felt sort of like a man cave, or a bachelor's apartment.

Ivan, more exhausted than ever, stumbled warily into the bed, his head hitting the pillow immediately. Luckily, the bed was very wide, so his father could sleep a decent distant away from him. Nevertheless, the heavy weight of his papa made the springs creak and croak when he sat down. "Good night, Ivan," Ivan just barely heard his dad mutter.

"Good night, Papa," Ivan replied just as exhaustedly, head still glued to the pillow. He took that peaceful opportunity to close his eyes.

To Ivan's great dismay, however, he discovered his father snored. A lot. And not to mention loudly. Ivan tried to block out the sound by curling up his blanket to his ears, but to little avail. The teen, despite his normally calm attitude, felt himself smolder just a bit. _Typical, _he thought sarcastically, bitterly, as he scowled to himself, still desperately trying to ignore the sound of his papa's snores.

Minutes before Ivan fell asleep, he found himself thinking wistfully of home. His warm bed. The feel of his blanket up to his chin, his soft pillow on his hair. How he read Natalya a bedtime story on some nights when she was lonely for Katyusha. How his mother still came into his room before he went to bed and made sure he had water, and everything else he needed, and kissed him goodnight. Sadness quickly replaced anger for Ivan.

_I wanna go home, _was the last childish thought to invade Ivan's mind before he finally closed his eyes for the night.

••••••••

**_Sunday_**

Relying on his memory, at the table in the little camper kitchen the next morning, Ivan began to draw the beautiful flowers that he'd seen in the woods. He used his arm to cover up his work so his father wouldn't see. He didn't know how good this drawing was going to turn out; he didn't want his father to give him a constructive criticism, didn't want his father to see that he wasn't so good at _another _thing. But, on the other hand, perhaps his papa were to compliment the drawing? That would, admittedly, embarrass Ivan, and he didn't want Ian to think that that was the only thing he was good at: drawing stupid flowers.

Ivan's father, however, was working on cooking breakfast. When he first saw his father slaving in the kitchen, like his mother did every morning, it, to say the least, shocked Ivan. He swore, he'd never seen his father cook _anything _in his entire life (minus the barbecue he'd cooked yesterday; but still, that wasn't the same as cooking in a kitchen). At home, it was Ivan's mother who always cooked the meals. Ivan thought almost humorously that his father would've taken him to Waffle House or something for breakfast. But no; he decided to cook himself, for once.

"What are you working on, Ivan?"

Ivan nearly shat his pants. He looked to his left and saw his father hovering over him, spatula still in hand. He chuckled a bit and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry, kiddo, did I scare you? I was just wondering what you were working on."

A wave of embarrassment, and a bit of annoyance, suddenly passed through Ivan. "Nothing," he said meekly and a bit sternly as he raised his arm to cover his drawing more. He furrowed his brows as his face grew red.

Ian must've seen the annoyed, slightly angry look on his son's face, because he raised his arms defensively and took a few steps back, almost jokingly. "Geez. I'm sorry, pal." He stared at his son for a few seconds, then quickly turned his back and began cooking again.

Ivan felt a little bad for making his father wince like that, but in the end, he didn't want the man hovering over him, or embarrassing him, so Ivan, almost regrettedly, continued drawing without another word to his dad.

"Breakfast is ready!" Ian rang out when the meal was done. He served Ivan his plate, and gave him a tall glass of orange juice. The father then grabbed his own plate and sat down across from his son.

Ivan stared down at his food. It didn't look appetizing in the least. The eggs were not fluffy at all; they were dark yellow and prune-like, and had crispy black edges. The bacon looked rubbery in the middle, and burnt on the edges. The toast had so much butter slaughtered on that it was literally dripping from the corners. The meal looked disgusting.

However, Ivan looked up at his father sitting across from him and saw that he was pigging out. He tried to repeat his father's actions, and tentatively took a bite out of his eggs.

He fought the urge to spit it back out.

For some reason, it had the same charcoal taste as the barbecue he'd eaten the previous night had, though Ivan didn't think that was possible. The eggs also had _way _too much salt and pepper; so strong that Ivan couldn't even taste the actual egg. He moved onto the bacon; it tasted as burnt and rubbery as it had looked. And eating the toast made his stomach churn, what with having so much butter on it.

Ivan could clearly see now why his father never cooked in the house. However, his papa seemed to like his own food, and polished off his plate quite quickly. Ivan, with all his courage and efforts, managed to dispatch about a little over half of his meal. He mostly filled up on orange juice, though.

As Ivan got ready for the day, mood soured greatly, he was _not _looking forward to the day ahead. Not looking forward to another day of boring fishing, stupid fucking hiking, or whatever else his father had in mind for the day. It was funny, really. Ivan had thought this trip would make him and his father closer—make them realize they actually had things in common. But no; it just convinced Ivan more that him and his father were nothing alike, and made him feel even more distanced from him.

Ivan, grudgingly, headed outside, to do whatever his father had planned, already exhausted out of his mind.

••••••••

Hiking was okay.

It _definitely _was not as bad as fishing. Indeed, it gave Ivan the opportunity to look at plants, idyllic rivers and streams, and even sometimes animals, if he was lucky enough. He kept his eyes securely on the trail as he watched carefully for poison ivy or bugs, and as his ankles and calves were covered graciously with mud and water when he walked through the streams.

He was actually enjoying something, for once. Until it happened; Ivan was walking through a stream, his sandals taken off and held in his hands, when he tripped over a large rock. He went down swiftly, and his knee jabbed painfully into a sharp rock.

Ivan hissed in pain. He searched for his father. The man wasn't even paying attention to him; he had his back turned towards his son, and stood a few feet in front of Ivan.

Ivan smoldered, his entire leg now in pain. His dad wasn't even looking at him! He was looking at something in the water—a crayfish, perhaps. "Papa," Ivan tried to call, voice quaking a bit. He seethed even more when his father ignored him. "PAPA!" Ivan screamed louder. "God-dammit!"

Ian looked over towards his son finally, jogging up to him. From his mouth spewed out his first concern, "Ivan...don't curse at me."

Ivan was angry now—his temper flaring as badly as his own lover's on a good day. "Papa!" he cried, almost pleadingly. "Why would you ignore me like that? Look at my knee."

Ian just barely glanced at his son's knee. "It looks fine," he said. "And I wasn't ignoring you. I just didn't hear you—I'm sorry."

Ivan hated the tone in his father's voice—chastising. Like he thought his own son was a big baby, when he was actually really hurting! Even as he thought this, his knee continued to throb in pain, and he gritted his teeth. Very softly he began to cry.

"Ivan, it's no big deal..." he heard his father say. "Just get up, and we'll go back to the camper. You're soaked; you need to change your clothes."

The teen was mixed between feelings of rage and sadness, and embarrassment. Rage and sadness at his father's tone of voice—an annoyed sort of reprimandment, like he thought his son was immature for crying. Embarrassment at himself _for _crying. It was no wonder his dad thought he was a baby.

Suddenly, Ivan didn't want to look at his father's face. A mix of shame, guilt, embarrassment, anger, and tears, Ivan swiftly got up and ran as fast as he could on his stinging knee, into the woods.

Once he found a desirable spot—by the tallest, widest tree he could find—Ivan sat in an upright fetal position and buried his head in between his crossed arms. He tried not to cry—though his father wasn't there and he could be free to do so—and in the end, soft whimpers escaped him. Horrible, self-deprecating thoughts that were still quite familiar to him began to invade his mind. _Crybaby. Mama's boy. Sissy. Weak. Faggot. _

No wonder his father didn't like him. What kind of a son was he? Ivan was sure his papa would've traded in another boy to be his son any day—another boy who was slim, tough, athletic, strong, had lots of friends, wasn't awkward or weird, never cried or even hissed in pain. But of course he'd gotten stuck with Ivan. Poor Papa.

Ivan looked up then. He realized there was a lake right before him; a misty silver lake. He was suddenly launched back in time to about a year ago, just before he'd gotten together with Alfred. The mystical lake before him looked strikingly similar to the lake he'd went to when he still had conflicting feelings about Alfred, and he'd felt so confused. The lake he'd been looking into when he turned around, hearing a voice call for him. It had been Alfred, coming to tell him his mother wanted him home. The two walked to Ivan's house together, joking and laughing and talking and having fun. That was the day Ivan first knew for certain that he was in love with Alfred Jones.

Ivan rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and lifted his head meekly when he heard loud footsteps approaching, crunching the leaves and sticks of the woods. It was his father, of course. The teen wasn't even sure if he had the strength to look him in the eyes; but it was harder to when Ian came to sit next to him, letting out a heavy breath of air as he did so.

"Hey, Ivan," Papa said in a playful little voice that he'd used when Ivan had been a small kid. "Is your knee still hurting? I'm sorry for how I talked to you back there. We can go back to the camper and put something on it."

Huh. That was funny. His papa thought he'd been whimpering because his knee was hurting. Still refusing to look his father in the eyes, Ivan turned his head and sniffed loudly. "I'm sorry," the Russian boy murmured just slightly.

"What was that, Ivan?"

"I'm said 'I'm sorry,' Papa."

Two sets of extraordinary violet eyes finally met as Ivan finally found the courage to look at his father. The man's thick eyebrows were furrowed slightly; he looked confused. "Sorry for what, Ivan?"

Ivan took a deep breath, and as he did his throat rumbled. "For not being a good son. I mean, you probably didn't want a son like me; you probably wanted someone who played sports, and was cool, and liked the same things you like. I'm just sorry I'm not like that."

Ivan bit his lower lip, lowered his head ashamedly. He wasn't good with words like Alfred was (though the American boy refused to admit it); Ivan hoped he'd gotten his point across without looking even more stupid in his father's eyes.

He heard his father's hand touch his shoulder, and the man must've scooted closer to him, because Ivan could feel his warm body heat on him. "Ivan..." Ian began. He didn't know how to even begin telling his son how wrong he was—that he was actually the best son a man could ask for. "That's so untrue. You're wrong; I love you so, so much. It has nothing to do with what you like, or how you act—" Ian paused, and snorted sarcastically as he said his next point, "—or whether or not you play sports. I love you. You're my only son—and, to be honest, you're a pretty damn good one."

Ivan looked up, shocked. He'd never heard his father express this much emotion before. He was always so quiet—a bit stoic, but in his own goofy way. But Ian wasn't done yet. "You are so loving towards your mother and your sisters. So loving to your boyfriend." Ivan's eyes grew wider, surprised that his father would bring up Alfred. "You help take care of the house when I'm not there." Suddenly, Ian paused, and he chuckled loudly and patted Ivan on the shoulder, hard. "Without you and your mother holding down the fort, sometimes I'm afraid the house might fall down." He then roared with laughter.

Ivan joined in with his laughter. Softly at first, but then it became louder as the boy forgot all about his scraped knee; the hours and hours he'd sat on the fishing deck, bored to death; the horrible food his dad cooked that tasted like coal. His father had just been trying. He was always so busy trying, in every aspect of his life.

Suddenly, Ian wrapped his arms around Ivan and gave him the biggest bear hug of all; even bigger than the one he'd given him yesterday morning at breakfast, if that was even possible. But, miraculous as it seemed, Ivan didn't feel choked, or suffocated; in fact, he felt heavenly light as he hugged his papa back tenderly.

"Now, let's go back and put something on that knee," Ian then said finally, getting up as he brushed leaves and dirt off of his clothes.

"Actually," Ivan interrupted, "I feel fine." He smiled at his papa.

His father looked at him, eyebrow cocked slightly. "Are you sure?" Ivan nodded. "Okay...but you should still change your clothes. You're still soaked."

Ivan looked down at himself, face growing pink with embarrassment. "Heh...yeah. I guess you're right."

The two walked back towards the camper. As they did, Ian leaned in to put his arm around Ivan, and ruffled his hair.

Ivan didn't poke his head away.

••••••••

After packing up their things, Ivan and his dad stopped at a restaurant for dinner, and then headed back home.

When they finally got there, the first place Ivan went after hugging his mother hello and facing his little sister's nagging confrontations was his room. He swore, he almost felt ready to faint as he walked in, and smelled the smell of it that had subconsciously been there, but he never really noticed it before. _Ahhh. Home sweet home. _Ivan plopped onto his bed.

Suddenly, he heard his phone buzz. Ivan took his phone out of his pocket; it was Alfred with a text for him.

_Hey babe ;) How was camping with ur dad? _

Ivan smiled, secretly loving it when Alfred called him "babe," and when he still occasionally used those old-school emojis when texting. He replied back.

_Really good, actually. You didn't tell me what you were going to do this weekend. How did your weekend go? _

While waiting for a text back from Alfred, he heard a knock on his door. It was his papa. "Hey, Ivan." The man grinned from ear to ear. "I had fun this weekend."

Ivan smiled back. "I had fun, too."

"Do it again some time?"

Ivan thought about it musingly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd definitely like to go again."

His father grinned and closed the door.

Ivan felt so happy, so gleeful, so optimistic. There was absolutely nothing that could dampen his mood as he waited patiently for a text back from his boyfriend.

••••••••

**Hey, guys!**

**Damn, that was a long chapter. Kudos to any of you guys that made through it all in one sitting XD. Sorry if it was kind of a disappointment that this chapter was only Ivan-based. I really wanted to go in-depth as to how his camping trip went, and if I'd mushed all three of their weekends into one chapter (as I'd originally planned), that wouldn't have been possible. Don't worry—Kiku and Alfred will be covered in the next chapter. **

**More to come soon, of course!**


	7. Visiting Trips

**_Saturday_**

Alfred couldn't help but cling to his mother tentatively like a small child as they went into that big, scary place with barbed wires and large-chested guards that held weapons at their sides.

Alfred was going to see his father for the first time in almost twelve whole months. And, though he rarely found it in himself to show any sort of fearful emotion (to be completely honest, _he _was usually the one to make people scared), he brushed against his mom like a kindergartener on his first day of school, and kept his face close to hers, not wanting to be touched or looked at by anybody besides her.

Alyssa had to sign her son in to go see his father. It was a long, drawn-out process, and even Alfred himself could see her hand trembling as she signed her own name, and then her son's. She shook as she handed the guards all the IDs that were required.

"Come with me, son," one of the less-intimidating guards said to Alfred. Miraculously, the man tried to smile, probably hoping to ease the worries on Alfred's face that he surely saw.

Alfred looked hesitantly from the man to his mother. She tried to smile at him. "Go on, sweetie."

Alfred felt ready to cry. He didn't want to leave his mother. He choked back tears even as she squeezed his hand tenderly. Finally, he found the strength to go with the burly guard, his legs feeling like rubber.

"First time here?" the guard asked softly as the two began to walk.

Alfred shook his head numbly, playing with the strings on his hoodie. "No. I've been here...a couple of times before."

"That's good," the guard said. "So that means you know the drill?"

Alfred nodded solemnly. The guard gave him a look; a bit sorrowful, a bit pitiful. Perhaps he had a child like Alfred in his own life. Or, perhaps, he just felt horribly sorry for the boy, and the situation he had been dragged into.

Pity. Alfred hated damn pity. He averted his eyes away from the guard.

As soon as he knew it, Alfred was behind that glass wall again and they were calling for Thomas Jones so he could be on the other end, to look straight into the face of his blood son for the first time in almost a year.

Alfred waited a little while. His heart pounded rapidly and he felt almost ready to faint. He played obsessively with the strings on his hoodie to keep himself occupied. And that's when he saw his father.

He still had the same cocoa brown skin, but a bit paler; the same short jet-black hair; the same milky brown eyes. Some things about his father were different, Alfred noticed musingly. For one, he'd lost a significant amount of weight—the jail outfit he had on hung off of him almost comically; his chest was no longer as husky and strong, his stomach no longer round and firm, and his arms smaller as they held lean muscle instead of bulky muscle. His face was still square-shaped with a strong chin, but his cheekbones jutted out just a bit more.

Hand trembling more than ever, Alfred gathered up all his courage and picked up the phone hanging on the wall beside him and began to talk to his father. "Hey, Dad," he greeted—more like deadpanned—in a voice that croaked.

His father tried to smile. That toothy, goofy grin that Alfred had once known well, during better times. "Hey, Alfred!" he said into his telephone. His dad's voice rang out uncomfortably, and Alfred couldn't help but wince.

The two stared at each other for a long while, silently, awkwardly. "Wow," Thomas began. "We sure have a lot of catching up to do!"

"Yeah. We do, Dad," Alfred replied stoically, hating the way his father tried to make light of this situation.

Alfred guessed that his father noticed his unenthusiastic attitude, his monotone voice, because his face fell for just a second, until it brightened up again. "So...how's school going?" Thomas asked. "You're in what...ninth grade?"

Alfred was stunned and horribly disappointed, though he tried not to show it. "Dad, I'm a _junior." _

His dad's expression behind the glass wall was blank.

Alfred felt his temper rise. _"Eleventh grade, _Dad," he hissed. Then he shot out bitterly, "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have expected a person who doesn't even have a high school diploma to know what a junior in high school is."

Thomas' face reflected hurt, but Alfred either didn't register that or didn't care—most likely both. He continued with his mini-rant. "And—to answer your question, Dad? School's going _great. _I have a boyfriend, actually. Yeah. I'm a fucking faggot. Deal with it." He paused briefly. "But you know what? I don't care. I love him. I haven't gotten in serious trouble in school since I started dating him. He's tried to erase all you've done to fuck me up emotionally!" Alfred nearly shouted this, and had to take a deep breath to calm himself down. He was getting out of hand. And besides, he didn't want a guard to hear.

Alfred heard his dad huff silently into the telephone, like he was angry, though when his son looked at him through the glass, his face was blank. "That's...nice Alfred," Thomas said awkwardly. "And what about your mother? And Lawrence? How are they doing? And what about your little brother—what's he been up to?"

Alfred snorted, still fired up and angry. "My little brother—what's he up to?" he replied bitterly. "He's been up to doing better than me in life, that's what! He's everything I'm not: smart, quiet, good, loving—and it's _your _fault!" Alfred's temper was spiraling almost out of control. He wanted to punch the glass wall, break the telephone, beat somebody, anybody up—just to make his father stop ignoring his emotions! "And as for Lawrence—he's been a better father than you've ever been, even when you were _out _of jail, which is barely ever. And Mom's slaving her ass, trying to parent me in the best way she can when I don't have a dad—and do you think parenting _me _is easy!?"

Alfred suddenly felt his face grow very hot. His head swayed back and forth; he felt dizzy. He started to see red and black dots. Oh God—this is _exactly _how he'd felt during his fight with Yao. During his big fight with Ivan. He needed to calm down.

Alfred began to breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth. He gripped the handlebars on his chair for support. He licked his lips in an obsessive rhythm, hands, legs, and arms shaking. Slowly he started to regain his vision again. His head no longer felt dizzy, and he felt his body start to cool.

Alfred's dad gave his son a...rather odd look. Almost quizzical. He scanned his son's face as best as he could through the glass, lips pursed tightly, eyes downcast. Alfred was confused at first...and then he realized.

His father must've seen so much of himself in Alfred. The gritted teeth. The furrowed brows. The icy smoldering eyes. The raging temper. He must've known exactly what was going on in Alfred's body and mind—the hotness, the dizziness, seeing the black and red dots. Because he'd been there before. Obviously too many times, because now he was in the slammer.

"Alfred," Thomas said, very abruptly, "I'm proud of you."

Alfred lifted his head up. "Wha—" _Proud of what? _

"I'm proud of you," Thomas repeated. "For not losing your temper."

Alfred's lips parted slightly. He sat hunched in his chair, studying his dad like the world depended on it.

"You can control yourself. That's the most important thing," his father continued. "That means you know when to stop when you're getting out of hand. That deep breathing you did—keep that up. Please. I love you—but by God, I don't want you in here with me. Be a good kid, Alfred. Don't make the same mistakes I did."

Alfred paused, taking all of this in. His fists were still clenched at the side, planted firmly on the handles of his chair. He felt his lips start to shake, and his eyes began to get glossy. It took everything in him to not cry. He couldn't cry _here, _in front of his _dad. _No. He had to be a man. No—an adult.

Alfred wanted to whine, to scream at the sky despairingly, desperately. He wanted to run; but he couldn't do those things, right here, right now.

Instead, he sat very straight in his chair, his back and neck arched almost comically, and said, "Yes, Dad." His voice was so calm, so smooth. He gulped back a huge frog in his throat. "I know what you mean."

"Five more minutes, Jones." Alfred was jolted when he heard a deep, grumbling, monotone guard calling to him. Snap—were his thirty minutes _really _almost up?

Alfred turned back towards his dad, gulping. "But...like I was saying—yeah. I love you, too, Dad—" Alfred blushed, "—but I don't wanna be here with you, either."

His dad smiled; that white-toothed smile that had once made his son feel like everything in the world was good—and that he was safe. Even though Alfred never would've been. "Just keep going to school, stay with your boyfriend, go to college, get a good job..." his father listed on.

Such generic phrases and commands that could've been said by _any _adult in his life, but for some reason, hearing them from his dad really hit home for Alfred. He didn't know why. Maybe it was more effective because this was a person who _never _steered down that path? Alfred mused. "Okay," the boy said obediently. "I will." And he meant it. He was going to take all of his willpower and make sure that he meant it.

One more wide grin was thrown his way before a guard gruffed, "Time's up."

Alfred got up quickly, because when a guard said that, you knew your time was _really _up...or else. He picked up the telephone quickly and told his dad he loved him, just as he'd done the previous times he'd been here.

"I love you, too, Alfred," Thomas said. Then he was taken away swiftly, to go back into a dark cell.

The guard led Alfred back to his mom. Alyssa smiled at her son, warily, shakily, as he approached her. "How did it go?" she asked, voice hushed.

Alfred suddenly felt his eyes go glossy again. "It went good," he said. But then, his lips started to quiver and his eyes drooped downwards as he began to let out all the tears that he'd been holding in. He felt his mother's arms wrap around his back, his neck, though she only made shushing noises to comfort him, obviously not surprised by this—he had to go visit his father _in jail, _for crying out loud; of course he was crying.

His mother guided him out the doors, hand still on his back, as he continued to sob into her neck. Alfred heard a man's voice say to his mother, pityingly, "Awww...didn't go so well for him?"

Alfred didn't hear his mom say anything, but she probably shook her head in response. "Well...I'm sorry," the nice, sweet man (Alfred could tell he was nice and sweet just by his voice—probably young, slim, and handsome too) apologized.

"It's okay," Alyssa said softly. "Not your fault."

They went out into the car, mother and son, where he continued to cry, though he didn't know why. Why _was _he crying? There was really nothing that had happened that would make him cry. Besides, possibly, reality hitting home.

Alyssa took her son out to dinner after that—a burger place. She let him order a double cheeseburger, crispy fries, Wisconsin cheese curds that glistened with golden grease, and a cold milkshake laced with unhealthy amounts of sugar and cream. But Alyssa didn't scold him for his food choices—Alfred deserved to eat what he wanted; he'd had a rough day.

Alfred's tears didn't completely dry for good until he went to sleep that night—and that's when he began to think musingly.

••••••••

Kiku sat in the passenger seat of his mother's car, legs and thighs pressed tightly together, holding the large bouquet of flowers ever-so-carefully in his arms. They were pretty, small pink flowers—the closest thing Kiku could find to cherry blossoms.

Kiku felt a content sort of feeling, like he always did when going to visit his father. His heart beated just a little faster than normal as he heard the soft piano music his mother always played on lengthy car rides, which was the only sound that broke through the silence.

They finally reached the familiar cemetery. For some reason, even though the day was sunny, the graveyard felt chilled, misty; that sort of weather that occurred just before it began to rain. A gray, cold sort of weather to match the grayness and coldness of the tombstones, perhaps.

Kiku walked ahead of his mother as he went to his father's grave. He knew where it was by heart at this point. There—big and stoney, looking a bit more elegant than the other graves (due to the love and care Sakura and her son had given it over the years), planted in between "Maureen Miller: a loving wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend" and "Kevin Darcy: beloved by all who knew him"—was the grave where Ren Honda laid to rest.

Kiku, a bit hesitantly, waited for his mother to catch up to him. He allowed her to reach the grave first; once she did, she sat on her knees straight in front of it, her arms planted softly on her legs. She studied it for a while. Kiku took this opportunity to set the flowers, ever-so-gently, on top of the dry dirt.

Him and his mother had both taken their time to dress their very best. Sakura wore a plain, sleeveless dark blue dress that stopped just a little above the knee; it was causal with a thin, wispy fabric, but still nice-looking. On her neck and wrists she wore pearls. She'd taken the time to do her hair and makeup better than she did on a normal day; her long jet-black hair was pulled delicately in a black barrette, her lips were scarlet-slashed, and she'd put on pink blush and dark mascara. Kiku wore a dark blue polo shirt with cream-colored pants. On his feet were his nicest pair of white converse shoes. His short hair had been brushed delicately.

"Hi, Ren," Kiku's mother greeted as she always did, as if she thought her dead husband could hear her. Kiku was perched on the side of his father's grave. "Your son is here," she said, smiling at Kiku. He smiled back to her, and then at the grave.

"The flowers—I'm sorry; they didn't have the cherry blossoms you wanted," she began to apologize. Then she started to giggle lightly, abruptly. "You know, the grocery stores by here, they seem to sell any type of flowers _but _cherry blossoms. Isn't that crazy?" Sakura's mood changed quite quickly then; she downcasted her eyes, and gave a soft but drawn-out sigh. She began to twist the wedding ring she still wore on her finger, in a rhythm.

Kiku looked at her intensely, searched her face to make sure she wouldn't start crying. As if she sensed his stare, Sakura lifted her eyes to look at him. She softly smiled, and patted the spot next to her ever-so-lightly.

Graciously, Kiku went to go sit by his mother. She cuddled him close to her small breast, rubbing his back in circles with her tiny hand, tickling his side with her long nails. Kiku drank in this rare act of affection from her eagerly. The only time she really hugged him this close was when they went to see his father.

The two sat like this for a while—until Kiku's legs grew numb, at least. Sakura finally decided it was time to leave, and Kiku followed her lead. When she passed by Ren's grave, she did her normal routine; she placed her two fingers to her lips, and then touched those fingers to the large tombstone. "Goodbye, Ren," she said. "We love you."

Soon Kiku was safe in the car again. His lap felt bare now that there wasn't a bouquet of flowers resting on it. To replace the feeling of emptiness, the boy placed his folded hands on his thighs.

Before he began staring out the window wistfully, as was his usual routine, Kiku looked at his mother as she started the car. He wondered how different his life would've turned out, had he grown up with a father. Would his life be better? Would he, perhaps, be an older brother? He wondered, too, if they would still be living in the U.S., or Japan.

Kiku knew so much about his dad, yet so little. Sometimes he wanted to ask his mother for stories about his father. But he figured if he were to do that, one of two things would happen: one, she'd get uncomfortably emotional; or two, she'd tell of their romance in a way that would embarrass Kiku.

All Kiku had to connect him to his father were a couple of pictures, a few stories his mother _had _told him, casually at dinner or while they were cleaning dishes, and the cemetery visits that came every few weeks, if he was lucky.

Kiku finally averted his eyes from his mother, and began to stare out the window. Simultaneously, his mother turned on the radio and began to play that piano music again. Abruptly, Kiku started to think of Ivan, if he and his father had taken that trip he'd suggested. Kiku briefly wished he had Ivan's number, or some other way to contact him, just to ask him how his weekend had gone.

Kiku brushed away the thought with a shake of the head. Was he crazy? Ivan was his _ex's boyfriend. _Kiku chuckled in spite of himself. _Alfred would probably slug me if I started talking to Ivan. _Besides, Kiku could ask Ivan about his weekend at the counseling session on Tuesday; or, perhaps, earlier than that, if he happened to run into the boy in the hallways.

As Kiku gazed out his window, he thought about that fantasy he dared to think about occasionally. The fantasy of having a father—how his life would be if his father hadn't died. His soldier father. A father that boomed "I'm home!" when he stepped inside of the house, back from work, as his children ran to the door, squealing joyfully, and leaped into his arms. A father that gave him, perhaps, a little brother or sister—or more. A father and a younger sibling that could fill the two empty seats at him and his mother's small dining table.

Kiku looked over once more at his mother, very briefly. Her dark, dark brown eyes seemed glazed over. Maybe she was thinking of the same fantasy.

••••••••

**_Sunday_**

The next day, Alfred still felt numb about the previous day; what his dad had said to him, the anger he'd felt, the tears. Just the whole experience.

Later on that evening, he decided he'd text Ivan, just to get his mind off things—and also to ask how Ivan's weekend had gone. The boy had mentioned something about going camping with his dad when Alfred last talked to him Friday.

Alfred sent a cute, quirky message.

_Hey babe ;) How was camping with ur dad? _

Alfred sat stomach-down on his bed, feet and legs dangling in the air, his face a bit pink as he thought about his boyfriend. Almost instantly he got a reply back.

_Really good, actually. You didn't tell me what you were going to do this weekend. How did your weekend go? _

Alfred paused, his heart starting to speed up in its beating. That was true; he _hadn't _told Ivan that he had to see his dad in jail. Why? He wasn't quite sure. Maybe to avoid pity? Or maybe he didn't want to deal with Ivan's worries. Alfred actually debated whether or not to lie to Ivan. It took him a little while to decide that, no, he wasn't going to lie to his boyfriend. He finally sent a text back.

_I had to go see my dad yesterday. At the jail :P _

Alfred saw the word "seen" under the little text box he'd just typed, indicating that Ivan had read it. It stayed like that for at least a few minutes. Then the small dots started to form in a little gray text box on the left side of his phone. Ivan was texting him back.

_Damn, Alfred. You didn't tell me that. How did it go? _

Alfred mused. How had it gone? Fuck, he could write a whole paragraph about _that. _

_So-so_

Alfred had decided to text Ivan something simple, just so the Russian boy wouldn't worry; though he grew anxious that that had not worked as he saw Ivan type back, rather quickly.

_Are you sure, Alfred? I think you're upset. Do you wanna Skype? _

Aw, heck. Even through _text messages _Ivan could read him like an open book. Alfred chuckled lightheartedly in spite of himself at how well his boyfriend could scan his emotions.

If it had been with one of his friends, Alfred would have just simply used FaceTime. But, since Ivan didn't have an iPhone, the couple usually had to rely on Skype when they wanted to chat together anytime, anywhere. Alfred moved over from his bed to his desk and opened up his laptop. He shot a quick reply to Ivan on his phone.

_Yeah_

When Ivan got online, Alfred quickly started a chat with him.

Seeing his lover's face on the screen automatically brightened Alfred's mood. Ivan's ash blonde hair was wild and tumbling, with a few of his oh-so-cute curls poking through; his violet eyes seemed bigger than ever, and his pupils looked large and adorable. He had on a simple red hoodie, and his cheeks were stained almost the exact color of that hoodie. Seeing Alfred must've made Ivan happy, too, because a smile immediately came to lighten his face once he saw his boyfriend. "Hi, Alfred!" he greeted happily.

"Hey, Ivan," Alfred replied.

Ivan's happy expression didn't last long, however, when his thin ashy brows scrunched together, in a way Alfred identified as anxiousness. "So...did you really go to the jail, Alfred?"

Alfred snorted. What, did Ivan think he was _lying _or something? Why would he lie about that? "Of course I did, Ivan. I had to go see my dad. Why would I lie and tell you I did if I really didn't?"

Alfred realized he'd spoken in a too-harsh tone as he saw Ivan wince a bit, and his eyes downcast.

Alfred sighed. He hated to see Ivan cower like that. It reminded him, painfully, of the days so long ago, yet so recent ago, when he'd bullied Ivan. Picked on him for no reason other than he wanted a punching bag to mess around with. "I'm sorry, Ivan. I'm just a little worked up right now. But, yeah, I went to the jail."

Ivan rubbed his arm, eyebrows still scrunched together a little bit. "So how did it go?" Ivan suddenly stopped rubbing his arm and looked at Alfred straight in the eyes. "For real?"

Okay. That was it. Ivan had broken Alfred. The American boy sighed heavily, and crossed his arms on his desk as he told Ivan the truth. "...Well, it went pretty bad at first. He started, like, asking me all these _casual _questions, like how school was going and how my family was doing." Alfred swallowed, then continued. "I got really upset, you know, that he was, like, basically ignoring the elephant in the room. Not talking about stuff that really needed talked about, I guess. So I started to get really mad at him, and I kinda screamed at him—not too loud, obviously, cuz there were guards."

Alfred raked a hand through his hair briefly, and took a peek at Ivan's face. The Russian boy continued to stare at his boyfriend, utterly intrigued with what he had to say. The American teen placed his arms back down on the desk and kept talking. "Then I realized I was _really _gonna lose my temper and, like, storm out or something, so I started to calm myself down. Deep breathing, stuff like that. He looked at me really closely while I did this, and then he said he was _proud of me. _I was confused at first. Then he explained that basically I wasn't like him—I could control my temper. He said he didn't want me with him—in jail. Then he stared telling me all these cliches, like go to school, get a good job, blah blah blah. But...I dunno; hearing it from him really hit home."

Ivan still stared at Alfred intensely, to the point where the latter actually began to feel a bit uneasy. He tried to chuckle, and end his story lightheartedly. "Then I cried to my mom like a baby. She took me out to this burger place, and damn, I tell you, those hillbillies in Wisconsin make some good ass cheese curds!"

Ivan didn't smile. In fact, when Alfred looked at his face, he just seemed sadder. "You're not a baby, Alfred," was the only thing he had to say.

Alfred blanched quickly, made uneasy because of his boyfriend's uneasiness. "Well, I _kinda _was."

"No you're not, Alfred," Ivan insisted. He cocked his head to the side lightly. "You think you're gonna tell Kiku on Tuesday?"

Oh snap. Alfred hadn't even thought about that—what he was going to say to Kiku when the boy asked him about his weekend. "I dunno," he said. "Probably not a lot, though."

Ivan pursed his lips. "You should, Alfred. He's our counselor. He's just trying to help."

Alfred sighed. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I don't wanna tell him _too _much, though."

"You don't have to," Ivan told him. "Just tell him what happened."

Alfred darted his eyes across the entirety of his boyfriend's face. He gave a weak, flat smile as he huffed his shoulders up. "Okay."

The two sat and looked at each other for a long time. Then, Alfred abruptly let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Hey, Ivan...wanna hear a funny story?"

Ivan grinned a little bit, and his left brow popped up. "I dunno...do I?"

Alfred smacked his lips and rolled his eyes playfully. "Of course you do." He clapped his hands together. "Okay, so you'll never _believe _what Matthew said to Lawrence tonight at dinner..."

The two boys continued to talk for hours over the computer until it was time for them to go to bed. When both their heads hit their pillows they once again felt fluttery feelings in their chests—the feelings of comfort, the feelings of love—and calmly, heavenly, they drifted into slumber that peaceful night.

••••••••

**Hey! **

**Just a quick note: I've never had to visit anyone in a jail, or anything like that, so apologies if the descriptions I give as to how a visitation would go are off, or just the descriptions of a jail in general. I tried to do a little bit of research, but oh well...**

**Awww, my heart aches. My poor boys :( (meaning Kiku and Alfred, of course) **

**I'm hoping the next chapter will be lighter. So, more to come soon :) **


	8. Making Amends

**_Day 5_**

At that next counseling session, Alfred told Kiku everything he'd told Ivan on Sunday when they'd talked through Skype. Visiting his father, how he'd almost lost his temper, what his father had said to him, and finally...the tears that had been so confusing for Alfred.

But, surprisingly, Kiku offered an explanation as to how Alfred's tears had formed, which the American boy had never thought about: "It was getting too real for you; reality hit you too hard. Your dad's probably never said anything like that to you; that's why it hit home."

"Huh," Alfred said as he sat on the couch, holding tight to Ivan's hand. "Yeah—you're right. I'd never thought of it like that before."

Kiku smiled. Alfred felt a pat on his leg. He looked to his left to see his boyfriend, grinning ear-to-ear at him. _I'm proud of you, _that grin said. Alfred reflected his lover's expression back to him.

Ivan talked about his camping trip, too. He even told of the most embarrassing part of his weekend—hurting his knee, and then running off into the woods and crying. He told Kiku what his father had said, how that had made him feel.

"That's quite sweet," the Japanese boy said quietly. "Do you feel like you and your dad have a closer bond now?"

Ivan nodded shyly.

"I love the relationship you two seem to have," Kiku said in a tone that sounded...wistful? Sad? He lowered his head down a little bit, averting his eyes from the couple for just a moment, until he lifted his head up and made eye contact again.

"I'm glad you guys each did something with your dads," Kiku finally said. He debated whether or not he wanted to bring his own weekend into the conversation; but in the end, he decided he should. "I actually went to go see my dad's grave—with my mom—over the weekend."

Kiku immediately saw both the boys' brows knit together worriedly. "Kiku, did it go okay?" Alfred asked in a tone that held nothing but concern.

"Yeah, yeah, it went fine," Kiku replied, brushing it off with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. He didn't want Ivan and Alfred to worry about him; he almost regretted bringing it up in the first place—this session was about the two of _them, _not _him! _

Kiku changed the subject quite quickly to a surprising one. "So...Ivan? Had you ever been in a previous relationship?"

Ivan blushed wildly. Kiku—he was the king of asking random, embarrassing questions! "Um...no." He then paused, and said, out of nowhere: "There was this kid I liked shortly before I started dating Alfred, though."

Alfred snapped his neck to the left. _No, he's not gonna talk about..._

"What was his name?" Kiku asked, quite rapidly. When he saw Ivan wince stand-offishly, he realized he'd probably sounded like a weirdo. "I'm sorry, Ivan. You can tell me. I'm not gonna gossip around the whole school."

Ivan chuckled a little bit, partially out of nervousness. He looked to Alfred on his right, who still looked a bit in shock. Ivan sighed. "His name is Yao Wang."

"Ohhh," Kiku drawed out a bit, writing something down on his notepad, "I know him."

"You do?" Ivan asked. Kiku nodded.

"Yeah," Alfred piped in, suddenly, "and he was a little jerk to Ivan. So I kicked his a—"

"Got into a fight with him," Ivan interrupted quickly, glancing to his right. "You beat him up."

Kiku looked at the boys, eyes very wide, and hurriedly scribbled down notes. "Was this during your...?" Kiku knew that they'd first starting dating, ironically, after a lunch punishment they'd been given by Mr. Green after getting into a physical altercation in the hallway.

"Yes," Alfred said, temper now rising as he thought, bitterly, about Yao. "I broke the little fucker's nose. At least, I _hope _I did. I think I did."

"Alfred!" Ivan chastised, like a parent scolding a small child.

Kiku blinked wildly. _"Ohhhh," _he drawed, "so that was why—" He then paused, shook his head, and once more wrote some notes.

Ivan and Alfred looked at each other, questioningly, and shrugged.

The two talked a little more about Yao, until Kiku made an almost horrifying suggestion to Ivan: "You should try talking to Yao again, Ivan."

"What!?" Alfred screeched, before Ivan could even react. "Why should Ivan have to talk to that little Asian _idiot _after what he did to him!?" Alfred then glanced at Kiku, whose big brown eyes were wide. Oh man—he probably shouldn't have used those specific choice of words in front of Kiku. "I'm sorry Kiku—I love Asian people," he apologized, trying to drown out his words with a chuckle, a rather stiff one. "But I'm sorry, that suggestion's just ridiculous!"

What shocked Alfred even more was his boyfriend's response. "Um...I mean, yeah, I can _try _to talk to Yao."

"What!?" Alfred said yet again, staring disbelievingly at his boyfriend. "After what he _did _to you?"

Ivan shrugged, so casually it almost made Alfred want to punch him—_almost. _"Why not?" he said. "He deserves some closure, too. And...besides, he wasn't exactly the _instigator _of that fight last year..."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. But still..." He still couldn't believe his boyfriend was saying _yes. _

Kiku cleared his throat, a bit awkwardly. "I'm not saying Ivan _has _to," he quickly pointed out. "But just if he'd like to."

Ivan paused for a moment. "...Yeah. I would."

Alfred bit his lip, hard.

Kiku gave a small grin. "Okay."

Soon the session was over. Kiku left first; he exited rather quickly, like he was in some big rush, as he always did.

The couple walked out in a single file, not holding hands as they typically did. To be honest, Alfred still felt a bit sour at Ivan's decision. But—if Ivan wanted to talk to Yao on his own terms, that was fine by him; though if Yao dared to hurt Ivan _again, _in _any way, _let's just say he'd have bigger things to deal with than a broken nose...

Brushing the thought aside, Alfred noticed something sitting on the seat that Kiku had occupied. It was a couple of papers the Japanese boy had forgotten. Alfred picked them up, inspected them briefly, and headed out the door, holding them tightly in his hands.

Only when him and his boyfriend were walking down the street did Alfred decide to show the papers to Ivan. "Yeah, it looks like Kiku accidentally left them..." Alfred said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ivan touched the papers in Alfred's hands tenderly. "It looks like schoolwork. He might really need these. How are you gonna give these back to him?"

"I don't know," Alfred said. For some reason, he felt ready to blame Kiku. "If he didn't always leave in such a big rush every day, he might not have forgotten them. It's like he can't stand to be around us for one minute longer than a fucking hour."

"That's not true," Ivan immediately interjected.

Alfred sighed, looking at the papers. Then a lightbulb flashed on inside of his head. "I'll just pop by his house and give them to him."

Ivan perked up. "You know where his house is?"

"Yeah," Alfred said quietly. "From when we were...dating." Yes, he remembered. He'd taken Kiku on just one date—to the park—and he'd had to stop by the Japanese boy's house to pick him up. He hadn't gone inside, just parked his bike in the grass and waited for Kiku to come out. "I'll just go real quick and give them back. It's up that way, I believe." He pointed up towards a certain street.

Ivan furrowed his brows, already a bit skeptical. "You don't want me to come with?"

"No," Alfred said. "It'll just be a quick stop."

Ivan scanned his boyfriend's face for a few moments; looked into his eyes, for Alfred's intentions could best be read through his sky-blues. Ivan saw nothing cold or malicious in them. "Okay." They went their separate ways.

Though Alfred had spoken so confidently to Ivan, in truth, his legs were beginning to feel like jell-o, and his heart was starting to pick up pace in its beating. He was going to his ex's house for the first time since ninth grade—and, quite possibly, he may be going _inside _for the first time ever.

••••••••

The eeriest feeling crept over Alfred as he walked towards Kiku's neighborhood—full of cute little duplex homes that were brown and white, and all of them looked identical (save for a few people who'd decided to decorate their houses). He went to the one that he knew belonged to Kiku. As he walked up to the house, Alfred realized why the feeling he had was so eerie to him—he'd felt the exact same way last year while going to Ivan's house for the first time. The way his stomach swarmed with butterflies, his dry throat, his sweaty palms. The feeling of familiarity. That was what was so eerie.

Alfred was even greeted by an animal once again as he stood in front of Kiku's door; only it was not a thin gray cat, but a bulky brown boxer dog at the neighbor's house. The dog growled at him, low and rumbly at first, but then his upper lip curled and he narrowed his eyes at Alfred challengingly.

But the boy just smiled. He was always good at taming animals. Before he knocked at Kiku's door, he tentatively leaned towards the dog, got down to his level so he wouldn't see Alfred as a threat, and held out his hand for the boxer to sniff. "Good boy," Alfred began to coo. "See, I'm a friend."

The dog stopped abruptly in his growling, and tentatively began to sniff Alfred's palm, and then licked it a little bit. Alfred chuckled; now that they were on good terms, he patted the dog's head and stood up. He took a deep breath, and knocked on Kiku's front door.

Someone answered almost immediately—quite a contrast from when Alfred had first visited Ivan's house; then, there had been a lot of hustling and bustling before Ivan's mother had finally opened the door. Alfred was greeted by an Asian woman, surely Kiku's mother. She was very, very tiny—Alfred doubted she was even five feet tall. She had jet-black hair that hung loosely long and straight; she wore a red blouse and stylish long black pants with roses on them. The woman seemed flustered at Alfred's presence; the boy saw her blush a little bit, as if she wasn't used to house guests. "May I help you?" she asked in a voice that was hushed, yet husky at the same time.

"Hey," Alfred started off, "Is Kiku here? He, um, left some papers at school, accidentally. I just wanted to return them to him." He waved the papers in his hand. And, since this woman seemed like the type who enjoyed her privacy, he added, "I won't be long—I'll just give them to him real quick."

The woman stared at Alfred for a few brief moments. "Yes, he's here," she then said huskily. She opened the door wider for Alfred to come in.

Immediately, Alfred knew this home was much different than _any _house he'd ever been in. It was so immaculately clean that if Alfred didn't know beforehand a teenage boy lived here—or really, a child of any age—he _never _would've guessed. Never. Everything in this home was spick and span, from the couch, the TV, the walls, the tables, the floors. Alfred saw not one inch of dust, dirt, or any sort of messiness or untidiness. He snorted inwardly—and he'd always believed _Ivan's _home was overly clean. That was nothing compared to this.

And, surprise surprise, the first thing Kiku's mother said to Alfred was, "Honey...if you won't mind, we leave all our shoes over in this little row, if you'd please put yours there?"

Alfred did; he lined his sneakers up in the neat row by the doorway. Then he followed the woman uncertainly as she started to move around the home—elegantly, softly, taking her time; totally different from Ivan's mother, who always bounded softly but noisily everywhere over her house, always needing to do something, and his own mother, who seemed to have an average walking speed that was ten times beyond the normal person's. Alfred felt like a giant walking behind her, she was that short. "My name is Sakura, by the way," she told her house guest. "I'm Kiku's mother."

Alfred smiled politely. Sakura; that was a pretty name.

She then called up the short line of steps. "Kiku! You have someone here who wants to see you. He has some papers to give you."

Kiku must've replied back, but at that point Alfred had stopped listening—he was busy, now, paying attention to a huge photo hanging on the wall above the couch that was framed gold. It was of a young man in what seemed to be a military uniform. The Japanese flag waved behind him. He had just a hint of a smile on his pale face, as he sat slightly hunched. That man—that man was...Kiku!?

"Whoa," Alfred breathed abruptly, touching the framed picture delicately, "when did Kiku pose for this?"

Sakura stopped, and turned back to look where Alfred was pointing. She chuckled, quietly, and Alfred saw her fold her hands together, and she smiled in a way that reminded the teen of a fox—like she knew something he didn't. "Honey," she said, "that's a photo that _Kiku's father _was in a long time ago. He was about twenty or so when he posed for that, I believe."

Alfred was stunned. The man in the photo looked _exactly _like Kiku. Or rather, he guessed, Kiku looked exactly like _the_ _man—_his father.

Sakura explained more while Alfred still stood, gobsmacked. "Yes...unfortunately, he passed away when Kiku was a baby," she said sadly. "He was in the army, in Japan. Such a good fighter—good worker."

Alfred looked at her briefly. Sakura's eyebrows scrunched downward, and she blanched paler (Alfred hadn't even figured that would be possible—her skin was so light).

No wonder she looked like that, though. Poor Sakura. She had to see this man's face in Kiku every single day, reminding her constantly of her deceased husband. Alfred then noticed with quite an odd surprise that she even still wore her wedding ring. God.

Sakura then smacked her lips, brushing the topic from her mind. "Well," she began, "Kiku said that you could go up—to his room. It's directly in front of the staircase."

"Okay," Alfred said, a bit grateful, because the tension in the air was becoming awkward, and a bit sorrowful. He began to trek up the stairs graciously.

"Kiku," Alfred said while knocking, gulping down a frog in his throat, "it's me, Alfred. I have some papers that you left in the counseling office."

There was a long pause; Alfred swore he heard sort of a choking noise, briefly, on the other end of the door. "Come in," Kiku's voice called.

Alfred turned the knob and walked in. Kiku's room was as neat and clean as the rest of the house—only this didn't surprise Alfred in the slightest; Kiku was just as much as a dutiful perfectionist when it came to school. There was a perfectly made full-sized bed, a brown dresser, a couple of electronics scattered about as well as a small TV, a brown desk with books, pencils, and other miscellaneous items sitting on it (and was, truthfully, the only part of the room that didn't look immaculate), and a door which Alfred assumed led to the closet. Only a few posters of video games, movies, TV shows and animes the boy must've liked littered the white walls.

Kiku's eyes look slightly wide as he perched on the end of his white bed. "Hi, Alfred," he said. "You said you had some papers for me?"

Alfred suddenly felt choked; he didn't know why. He had to swallow, hard, before he replied. "Um...yeah. I think it's some kind of schoolwork—math or something." He handed the papers towards Kiku.

Kiku took them, a bit hurriedly, and set them on the desk. He then began to obsessively rearrange the items on that desk; he shuffled the papers as he put those aside and set his laptop in the center.

"Did my mom say anything to you?" Kiku asked quite curiously as he sat back down on his bed.

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "...Yeah. She just told me where to put my shoes and stuff." He wouldn't tell Kiku about how he'd mistaken his father for, well, _him. _That was kind of awkward and kind of embarrassing.

"Oh," Kiku said. "I was just wondering if she offered you food, or something to drink or anything like that..." he drawed off, and shrugged a bit awkwardly as he stared down at his lap. Shyly, the Japanese boy rubbed the back of his neck; then, he smoothed out the ruffled part on his bed briefly, still looking down. There was an awkward silence held between the pair for a good few minutes.

Alfred mused that Kiku probably didn't invite people inside of his room a lot.

Kiku then looked up at Alfred, rubbing his neck once more. "Well, I mean...there's really no point in you leaving right now—you just came in like, what, five minutes ago?" Kiku's eyes then lit up, but just for a moment. "We can play a video game or something."

"No," Alfred declined. Instantly, he cringed inwardly, though; his response had been too quick—he didn't know why he shot down that offer so vehemently. He felt a bit guilty. "I have somewhere to be. I should get going," Alfred elaborated lamely.

"Oh," Kiku said, looking at the ground, hands folded in his lap. "Well...bye then. See you Thursday at the session?"

"Yeah. For sure," Alfred said. But then, suddenly, an extraordinarily heavy wave of guilt passed through him. He looked at Kiku—so small, so slim, so awkward, with his striped polo shirt and blue jeans, his solid black hair, his large honey-colored brown eyes.

"Hey, Kiku?" Alfred called out, voice shaky, to Kiku, who was walking towards his desk.

The Japanese boy looked back curiously.

Alfred sighed. "Hey man," he started off, smiling sheepishly. "I know we've had our differences and all, but..." the American boy sighed again. Why must it be so hard to put feelings into words? If it wasn't so hard, it'd be _so much _easier to talk to people. He wouldn't have a bad temper then. "I'm just sorry for some of the things I've done in the past. Like...when we were dating, and when I cheated on you..." Alfred drawed off; he felt his face grow very red as he saw Kiku's eyes—the eyes of a child.

To Alfred's surprise, Kiku looked up and smiled warmly at him, brows drawn downwards a little bit. Alfred hadn't really seen his ex-boyfriend stand up at his full height for years; Kiku was still very much shorter than Alfred, but man, he had grown a ton since eighth grade. He was almost lanky now. Alfred smiled back—out of wistfulness, fondness; like the way a, say, loving aunt or grandma smiles at a nephew or grandson they haven't seen in a long time.

"It's okay, Alfred," Kiku said. "I know what you mean, too. That was a long time ago; I accept your apology."

Alfred smiled, and for some reason he felt a huge lump that had been in his stomach disintegrate. "Thank you."

"And, hey?" Kiku said, his voice cracking slightly. He twiddled his fingers a little bit. Alfred smiled even wider—that was a habit Ivan had, too. "Whenever you want to talk to me, at school or whatever—feel free to do so. Even if we don't have a session that day." Kiku's tone sounded casual, genuine. "And if you can't find me, you can just talk to Ludwig and Feliciano, or even Heracles or Sadiq. They always seem to know what I'm doing, or where I am."

Alfred laughed so suddenly at that. "Yeah. Friends _do _like to keep tabs on you—that's for sure."

Kiku let out a little chuckle, and smiled once more. "Bye, Alfred."

"Bye Kiku." He started to walk out the door.

"Have a nice day," Kiku called back. Alfred had already shut the door, so he didn't reply; but a small part of him wish he'd opened the door and said, _have a nice day, too. _He quickly exited the home's front door (after putting back on his shoes, of course; he discovered that Kiku's mom had rearranged them, and lined them up even neater! Jesus-please-us).

For some reason, Alfred felt accomplished, like he'd just completed a really big project, or just got done writing a five-page essay, or something like that. It was a good feeling.

He ambled on, happily, over to Ivan's house, ready to spend an ordinary afternoon with the one he loved most.

••••••••

**_The next day..._**

As fate may have it, Ivan did have a class with Yao—first period English. The Chinese boy, understandably, sat the farthest possible distance he could from Ivan; in the back left-side corner, while Ivan sat towards the front, on the right side of the room.

It took all of Ivan's courage to approach Yao's desk before the first bell rang. The boy was sitting with his back low and feet sticking out below his desk, and reading a large fat novel, with his finger in it to mark his place; he had undid his ponytail so his long hair hung loose, and he played with the scrunchie using his free hand. Yao seemed utterly invested, and Ivan almost walked away and let him be, but some stronger part of him called his name. "Yao?"

Yao seemed jolted. He stared up, eyes wide, and let out a little _uh _sound as his mouth hung open. He then put his hand on his chest and closed his eyes briefly. "Oh my God," he said, heaving, "you scared the fuck out of me."

Yao's tone sounded a bit rotten, and he had an annoyed look on his face. Ivan cringed inwardly—already he was getting off to a bad start, and he hadn't even begun talking to the boy yet! "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized.

Yao looked up at Ivan, his eyes a bit softer. "You're fine," he replied, his voice still just a little on the harsher side.

Ivan began to play with his fingers nervously. "Hey, Yao?" God, already he could _feel _his voice cracking. "I just wanted to say..."

Yao was all ears now. His eyebrows were scrunched up, and he had folded his book over so he could pay full attention to Ivan. Ivan went to put his finger up to his mouth to chew his nail, but he quickly pulled his finger back down and instead clutched his hands together. "...I'm sorry for everything that happened. Last year. The fight with Alfred—it was my fault. I'm sorry." Ivan wanted to say more than that, but he didn't know how to without sounding awkward.

Still with knitted eyebrows, Yao blinkled rapidly up at Ivan. The Russian teen expected him to say something snarky back, but to his surprise, Yao began to smile slightly. "That fight with Alfred? Oh, it's fine. That was last year—I'm over it now."

Ivan was surprised "You are?" Yao nodded.

Ivan didn't know whether Yao was being one hundred percent truthful, but he brushed it off, just for now. The Chinese boy's smile faltered, and he patted his own head as he stretched a bit. "And, honestly, Ivan," Yao began, for some reason worriedly glancing around the room, like he was going to tell the bigger teen an important secret or something, "I'm sorry for treating you like that. Last year, I mean. But hey—if I'd given you a chance, you probably wouldn't be with Alfred."

Ivan took it that that was meant to be a joke, and he giggled a little bit, surprised that Yao knew of their relationship. "Heh—yeah," he said sheepishly.

Yao shrugged, and said quite casually, "Well...we can be _friends _again if you want."

Ivan felt his heart drop. _Friends?? _He'd never really had a friend before—besides Alfred, of course, and the very person who sat in the desk in front of where he was standing; but yet, the latter had been a fake friend. Did he want to be a real friend this time around? "Um..." Ivan contemplated. "Okay!" he finally agreed.

Yao smiled, hand on his book; it seemed he wanted to get back to it. "Okay," he said simply. Then he made an offer that blew Ivan's mind: "Hey...do you want to come to my house sometime? We can play video games or watch a movie or something like that."

Ivan felt so happy at that moment he wanted to shout. But he steadied his quavering throat enough to reply. "Yeah...sure!"

"Okay," Yao said. He got out a pencil and a little sheet of paper and wrote something down. "Here's my address." He handed the slip to Ivan. "Is tomorrow after school okay with you?" Yao asked.

It was on the tip of Ivan's tongue to say _yes..._but he had a counseling session! It had to be after that. "I actually have something to do after school. How about four o'clock?"

"Fine by me," Yao replied simply, smiling at Ivan for quite a long time. He didn't say anything else to the Russian boy; he just continued reading his book intensely, and that was Ivan's cue to head back to his own desk.

Ivan whistled quietly as he headed to his seat, the first period bell ringing exactly as he sat his butt down. The teacher walked in, and all the students who didn't want to be late for first period dashed into the room from the hallway.

An unremarkable English class came and went; yet Ivan felt overly giddy and happy the entire forty-five minutes. He felt so good to finally have a friend—a _true _friend it seemed. Or, at least, he hoped.

Ivan was also surprised at how eagerly Yao had forgiven him, how quickly he'd invited him over to his house. It seemed Yao was ready to apologize long before Ivan had been.

After the class was over, Ivan hurriedly went to his Algebra II class, which he had with Alfred. He couldn't wait to tell his boyfriend the—hopefully—good news.


	9. Friendships

**_Day 6_**

"I still can't believe that little asshole invited you over to his house," Alfred scoffed at Ivan as the two proceeded to walk to their sixth counseling session.

"Me neither," Ivan replied, beginning to feel uneasy, "but it _was _a nice offer—don't you think?"

He looked at Alfred, and he saw his American boyfriend's eyebrows shoot straight up, and his eyeballs bug out as he stared at Ivan incredulously. Alfred threw his hands up in the air. _"That's what I'm saying!" _he practically screeched. "It's kinda fishy that _Yao _of all people would be that nice to you, isn't it?"

Ivan shrugged dismissively, but yet on the inside he still felt a bit nervous. "I guess," he admitted. "But—babe...what if he _is _being for real?" He wanted to say, also, _what if he _actually _wants to be my friend, _but Alfred interrupted before he could.

"I _highly _doubt he's being for real, dude," Alfred said as he opened the door to the counseling office. "It's just...too fishy."

They walked in, saw Kiku sitting down as always, notepad in hand. To Ivan's surprise, it was actually Alfred who initiated conversation—though not in a civil, calm way. "Guess what, Kiku?" the boy asked angrily.

Kiku blinked, probably surprised as well. "What is it, Alfred?"

Alfred pointed his finger at Ivan as they sat down, in an accusing way. "Ivan actually talked to that motherfucker, Yao."

_"Alfred!" _Ivan chastised. "Don't call him that!"

"That's great for Ivan," Kiku said, "but...Alfred, Ivan's right—please don't curse."

Alfred let out a loud huff. "Okay—I'm sorry, Kiku. It's just...ugh! I'm so mad."

Kiku opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Alfred continued, "And...guess what else, Kiku? Yao invited Ivan _to his house. _Today. After this damn session."

"I think that's also great," Kiku said. He turned to Ivan. "But...Ivan—I _do _see Alfred's point. Just a little bit. It _is _a bit strange that Yao would want to invite you to his house, after all that's happened between you two."

Alfred grew an accomplished, almost smug look on his face. _"Thank you, Kiku." _he said graciously. "See, Ivan? Kiku's on my side."

Ivan felt his heart sink as he defended his point. "But Kiku! Yao apologized and everything!"

Alfred's face held nothing but rage and frustration. He held his hands up, and opened his mouth to say something until Kiku raised his arms up, clearly requesting silence. "May I speak?" he asked seriously but quietly.

Ivan nodded, eyebrows raised. Alfred smirked a little bit, slightly out of embarrassment, and said, "Sorry, dude. You got the floor." He took his fingers and pretended to zip up his lips.

"Thank you," Kiku said, smiling. "First of all...Alfred, I'm not on anybody's _side. _I'm just bringing to the table my concerns, and what I notice in the situation."

Alfred pouted his lower lip, and gave a thumbs up. "Fair."

"And Ivan..." Kiku turned towards the Russian. "...I _am _glad that Yao apologized. That's good on your part. And if you _do _want to go to his house...that's your decision."

Ivan nodded again. Alfred held the great urge to open his mouth and spew something really nasty at Ivan, at Kiku. He bit his lip to keep himself from speaking.

The trio continued to talk a little about Yao. It started off with Alfred and Ivan basically arguing, until Kiku calmed the fire; he actually had to start a timer so that Ivan and Alfred could each have a few minutes to speak, without the other interrupting. After the conversation was over, Kiku basically told Ivan the same thing: that it was his decision to go to Yao's...but he should be careful.

Kiku then asked Alfred what he was going to do after the session. Alfred, still in a nasty mood, replied quite tartly, "I don't know—probably go to Antonio's house or something. To get my mind off _him." _He pointed to his boyfriend.

Kiku wrote something down. "Do you often go to one of your friends' homes to get your mind off Ivan?"

It was such a simple question, but it made Alfred think musingly. Yes—he did. Whenever he had a fight or argument with Ivan, Alfred would often run to his friends. Sometimes their advice was good; but the majority of their advice wasn't so good—especially considering their already-shaky feelings regarding Alfred's relationship with Ivan. Alfred remembered him and Ivan's verbal fight a few weeks back—their verbal fight that was the whole reason they were here. How he'd said, in a fit of rage, that his friends had told him to dump Ivan. And they had—usually it was in a joking manner; but even jokes, more often than not, had a hint of seriousness in them. Alfred had just twisted it around in order to argue with Ivan.

Alfred told Kiku this—minus the part about the fight. He wasn't ready to talk about that yet.

The conversation then shifted to Ivan's slightly-controlling nature regarding Alfred's friends. Ivan felt himself blanch when this topic was brought up—he didn't like to think of himself as _controlling; _but yet, he kind of was. Ivan would sometimes call Alfred while the latter was at one of his friends' houses. When Alfred wouldn't answer, Ivan would get anxious. He'd continue to call Alfred until he got an answer—and usually by that point Ivan's boyfriend was angry. And that'd make Ivan angry too, because whenever Alfred was angry, he'd argue with Ivan—and really anyone that was in the line of fire. And whenever Ivan called Alfred, he'd automatically put himself in that line of fire. It was a cycle that Ivan didn't like.

However, Ivan kept most of this to himself as he talked with Kiku and Alfred. Soon enough, another session was over.

There was still an icy atmosphere surrounding Ivan and Alfred as the two went their separate ways as they headed out the school doors—for once.

"Have fun at Antonio's," Ivan called to Alfred as he carefully read the slip of paper with Yao's address on it as he walked.

"Yeah," Alfred called back. Ivan heard bitterness in his boyfriend's tone. "Have _fun _at Yao's."

Ivan crinkled his brows sadly, but yet...he didn't care what Alfred thought. He was going to go to Yao's house, and he was going to make a new friend. It was Alfred's loss to not feel happy for him.

••••••••

"Hey, look who it is!"

"Mr. Alfred F. Jones himself."

Alfred waved to his group of friends, kissing his hand and holding it up jokingly, feeling socially accepted once again as he heard their voices, clearly excited to see him. He walked over from Antonio's gate to the mini makeshift basketball/soccer/tennis/whatever-else-the-group-wanted-it-to-be court.

The whole gang was there: Mathias, Francis, Gilbert, Antonio...and of course, now, Alfred himself. Gilbert dribbled a basketball as he called to Alfred, "Just got done with that counseling session?"

"Yep," Alfred said, practically throwing his bookbag along the side of Antonio's house, into the pile of the other boys' bookbags.

Mathias laughed out loud. "Oh my God, I forgot all about you having to go to that, Al. How's little Mr. Honda been treating you?"

Alfred shrugged casually, smirking. "Not too bad, I guess."

The American boy saw Francis growing a half-snarky, half-smirky face; Alfred knew the next person he'd be asked about would be Ivan, and he really didn't feel like talking about him right now. He quickly changed the subject. "So...who wants to play b-ball?"

Gilbert, still holding the ball, dribbled it once, pointed a finger at Alfred with his other hand, and smirked knowingly. "Around the world?"

"Sure."

Antonio, who hadn't been standing with the crowd, groaned as he held his soccer ball. "C'mon...I wanted to play some soccer."

Gilbert snorted. "Antonio, no one wants to play your fucking Mexican-ass soccer."

Antonio began to glare at the German. "First of all, it's not Mexican..."

Mathias, perhaps to avoid an argument, quickly gave a makeshift survey: "All those in favor of playing 'around the world,' raise your hand."

As to be expected, all but Antonio raised their hands.

"It's four to one, man," Mathias called to Antonio. "Ditch the soccer ball."

Antonio furrowed his brows, dropped the white and black ball, and inched over towards the court. Alfred heard him mutter something under his breath about it being _his _house so they should play what _he _wanted; but in the end, the Spanish boy laughed merrily as Gilbert passed the basketball to him.

Alfred felt comfortable again as he played a nice, smooth game with his buddies. He didn't think about Ivan, about Kiku, or about the session; the only thing he thought about was getting the ball in the hoop when it came to be his turn, and watching his friends shoot, perhaps cheering when they made a good one, or booing jokingly when they missed by a long shot.

The dirty-blonde teen and his friends were sitting on the end of the court, watching Francis make his ball into the hoop when Antonio took a swig of his Gatorade and turned to Alfred. "So...are you going to Lovino's party this weekend?"

Alfred raised his brows as he looked at his friend. "Lovino's having a party this weekend?"

Antonio's thin brown eyebrows shot straight up. "_Duh—_geez, Alfred, you didn't know? It's been going around, like, the whole school."

Alfred just looked at Antonio. The Spaniard shook his head, snorted, and took another drink. "Damn, Alfred, always in your own little world with that boyfriend of yours."

This was a comment that didn't sit well with Alfred. He gruffed. "Me and Ivan are _not _in our own little world. Just because I'm popular and he's not doesn't mean anything."

But Antonio wasn't looking at him. He was busy watching Mathias make a shot.

Alfred sighed. He didn't want to get into a fight with Antonio—not now, of all times. He took a drink of his Pepsi can and asked casually, "When it is? Friday or Saturday?"

Antonio still didn't look at Alfred. He burped, covering his mouth with his fist. "Saturday. Starts at seven o'clock. Ends at God-knows-when."

The boy chuckled, and Alfred started laughing too, in spite of himself. "Any special occasion?" Alfred asked.

"Not really," Antonio said, looking at Alfred again. "Besides his grandfather setting up the pool for the year."

Alfred's eyes grew wide. "Awesome! So it's a pool party then?"

Antonio nodded, raising his eyebrows and smiling at Alfred. "Yeah." He stretched loudly as he drawed out, slurring a little bit, "Gonna be liiiiit..."

Then Gilbert had gone and it was Alfred's turn. He was smack dab in the middle of the court. Not really caring to try his best (for, truthfully, he wanted to sit back down and think), he took the shot and missed—terribly. Mathias let out a low whistle. Alfred dribbled the ball towards Antonio, who cocked a brow. "Not gonna chance it, man?"

Alfred shrugged. "Naw. Already too far ahead to do that."

He went to sit, until he saw Mathias, Francis, and Gilbert standing up, all with matching expressions and crossed arms. Alfred would've laughed at their comically-stoic faces if they hadn't been staring at him like that. "What?"

Francis was the first to speak. "How did you _not know _Lovino was having a party to weekend?"

Alfred shrugged. "I don't know—none of my _friends _bothered to tell me."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "We _would _have told you, if you'd hang out with us, or eat lunch with us."

Alfred sneered slightly. "Okay, I'm sorry Ivan demands _way _too much of my time—fair?" He inwardly cringed after he said that. He shouldn't be talking about Ivan like this—especially behind the boy's back.

Mathias waved his hand in a dismissive manner, and uncrossed his arms. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he chanted. Alfred cringed outwardly this time.

The group began to chat about the upcoming party, which was supposedly going to be "really awesome." Francis smirked. "Yeah—it's the first party that _mon amour, _Arthur, is gonna come to with me," he bragged.

"God, we know," Gilbert sneered, throwing a ball towards Francis. "And stop speaking French randomly. It annoys the shit out of everybody."

In spite of himself, Alfred smirked a little. He remembered a long, long time ago, way back in about third grade, how him and Francis had teased Arthur Kirkland, a skinny little British boy with thick black eyebrows, for still having imaginary friends, and for owning every _Harry Potter _book and movie. How they'd teased Ivan, during the same time period, just for being a loser, and having no friends. Now Francis was dating Arthur...and Alfred was dating Ivan. It was sure interesting how time played out.

Alfred watched Antonio walk over, throwing the basketball to the side, nonverbally declaring the game over, and the friends began to talk about the party; what they were going to do with their lovers, what they were going to do with each other, what games they were going to play in Lovino's pool. In a way, it hurt Alfred, to laugh but to not join in with the conversation, because if he even tried to talk about bringing Ivan, he would get either harsh stares or snarky remarks thrown his way by his buddies. Alfred groaned inwardly. It wasn't fair to have the least popular lover out of all of his friends; it was a surefire way to get taunted and teased.

"So, Alfred," Antonio purred, causing Alfred to snap his head towards his friend. The Spaniard's face was cupped into his palms. "It seems like you're the only one not bringing anybody."

Alfred snorted. "No—Gilbert's not taking anybody."

Mathias snorted right back. "Yeah, but that's to be expected. Gilbert'll always be lonely."

This caused the rest of the group to burst out laughing. Alfred saw Gilbert's face flush red. "Oh, whatever," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. Then Alfred saw him gasp, and he knew what was coming when Gilbert turned to him excitedly and said, "Unless..."

_"No, Gilbert!" _Alfred nearly hissed. "There is no way in _hell _I'm gonna let you date Matthew." Gilbert had been trying to get his hands on Alfred's little brother for _years _now, but to no success...mainly because of Alfred's overprotectiveness. Or rather, just common sense on Alfred's part.

The entire group of friends erupted in laughter—sans Gilbert, who held his head down and pouted his lower lip in a joking sadness. Even Alfred chuckled a little.

"Besides, I _am _dating someone—you guys know that," Alfred said, already regretting what he said just a little bit after the words popped from his mouth.

Immediately, Alfred saw his friends cringe and wince, and form disgusted sneers—which was what they always did when their American friend brought up his boyfriend. Mathias was the first to speak. "Yeah...but there's _no way in hell _you're bringing Ivan to _Lovino Vargas' _party."

Alfred furrowed his brows. "Why not?"—though he already knew the answer—"If I'm going, he should go too."

He saw his friends duck their heads. He knew they were trying to hide laughs—and this infuriated Alfred. Francis choked out, "But...Alfred...no offense, but Ivan is a bit of a..."

A long pause. _"Loser," _Gilbert shot out, cupping his hands between his mouth so his voice would vibrate. The teenagers—all except Alfred, of course—bursted out laughing.

Alfred was now angry. He held his fists at his sides. It was this—always this! Why couldn't his friends just accept his relationship? "Whatever," Alfred snarled, "you guys don't even understand Ivan. He's actually really sweet—"

"Loser," Antonio parroted.

"He's an amazing artist—" Alfred tried to continue.

"Loser," Francis shot out.

"He's one of the best people I've ever met."

_"Looooooser," _Mathias drawed out obnoxiously. The group bursted out in laughter, again, like hyenas.

Alfred was fuming at this point. His friends were always a _little _harsh when it came to Ivan, Alfred readily admitted that—but even _this_ was way beyond what they normally did!

Alfred screamed, "Fine! You guys hate Ivan so much—well, I'm gonna take him to the party! This Saturday! Whether you guys like it or not! And you are going to _talk _to him, and you are going to be _nice _to him, and I'll bet my mom's fucking life savings he'll do the same to you! Just to show you he's _not a fucking loser, and he's actually a really nice kid, and a hell of a boyfriend!" _

Alfred huffed wildly, his face burning red. He ran a hand through his hair aggressively and began to slow his breathing down. His friends just stared at him; they were accustomed to the teen's ferocious temper—once directed regularly to the exact boy he'd just ranted about.

Antonio walked over, and stood in front of Alfred. He put a tanned hand on the American boy's shoulder. "Fine, Alfred. Do what you want. Sorry things got so heated." That's all he said. Alfred looked back at the rest of his friends; they shared the same forgiving expression as Antonio.

Alfred took a deep breath, and smiled at Antonio. "It's fine, man."

Antonio returned his smile, and patted his shoulder. And with that, the situation was closed.

Alfred grinned meekly, and rubbed the shoulder that Antonio had patted. He loved his friends. Even though they pissed him off sometimes, he still loved them. They were his homies.

The five teens continued playing basketball until the sky grew orange and it was dinner time for all of them.

Alfred walked home, exhaustedly. He hoped on Saturday, at the party, his friends and his boyfriend could become united—because that was what he really wanted.

••••••••

Even though he'd said he'd go to Yao's house with such confidence, Ivan was shaking internally as he knocked on the front door of the slightly run-down house that was Yao's.

Ivan _really _wished he'd convinced Alfred to come with him—just for some extra protection. The Russian boy waited for an extraordinary amount of time for someone to respond to his knock. Just as he lifted his hand to knock again, he heard a yelling voice through the other end of the door—a heavily-accented one, Ivan could tell that. The walls and door must've been very thin, because Ivan could hear _everything: _wailing kids, a woman shouting, machines that were surely pieces of household equipment running.

Suddenly, the door flung open. Ivan was jolted when he saw an Asian woman, holding up a wok as she opened the door. She was short, a little over five feet tall, with thin unstylish glasses and short black hair that was frizzy. She smiled at Ivan; much too eagerly, the boy thought.

"Hello!" she greeted in an accented voice that boomed. "May I help you?" Two curious little kids, a boy and a girl, came to stand by her side. She looked down at them, scrunched her lips at them as if they were bugs, or some other type of unwanted house pests, and shooed them away. "Go!" she demanded. "I try to talk to guest!" The little ones obeyed, and scampered away.

Ivan, now feeling quite uncomfortable with this strange woman, not to mention even more nervous, twiddled his fingers as he spoke, though he knew it was improper. "Hey, um...is Yao here? He wanted me to come over today."

"Suuuuure!" the woman said—once again, way too enthusiastically—and smiled. She then flung the door open to fully let Ivan in.

Ivan walked into an untidy house, to say the least. Clothes were piled everywhere, as well as toys; the couch cushions had been unstuffed (two of the children were, by the looks of it, trying to make a fort; this made Ivan smile slightly at the fun memories he had with his sisters, building "forts"); shoes, socks, bookbags, and coats were thrown everywhere; and, as Ivan looked into the dining room, he saw dirty dishes piled up—possibly from snack time or even breakfast.

Multiple sets of big brown eyes stared at Ivan with wonder and curiousity. He waved hello, slightly, to the little children. He only saw about three wave back, and all of those three waved just slightly; they were so busy staring.

The woman marched to the edge of the stairs and called up, extremely loudly: _"Yaaaaaooooo!" _

It took a little while for a reply to come back: _"What, Ma!?" _

"You have friend here!"

"Bring him up," Yao replied back almost immediately, which lessened Ivan's fears just a bit; had he been expecting Ivan?

Yao's mother walked away, still with the wok in hand, which left Ivan to trek up the steps. He was already up there when he realized Yao's mother hadn't told him where Yao's room was. There were so many doors to so many rooms—it could have been any one of them! However, Yao's mom had called up the _stairs, _indicating his room was close to there...

Ivan's overthinking was interrupted when he saw a swarm of children maneuver past him, and gather around a door that was to the right of a door that was directly in front of the staircase. Again, they stared at Ivan with large eyes.

The Russian boy smiled. _Well...guess that answers my question. _He started to move towards Yao's room when that door suddenly swung open. _"Ayiah!" _he screeched as he shooed and kicked the kids away angrily. "Get away!"

Then, immediately after he said that, a voice shouted from downstairs: _"Kids! _Get down here, now!"

_"What, Ma!?" _the little kids squealed in high-pitched voices, in a complete mimic of Yao when he'd called down to his mother. _My God, do _all _the kids talk like this to their mother? _Ivan thought.

"GET DOWN, I SAID!" Yao's mom yelled again. "Yao's trying to have time with friend!"

Yao began to kick away and shoo once more. The kids finally complied, and began to squeal, crying out that Yao was mean, their mama was mean, and that they just wanted to watch the "big, scary kid." They began to race down the steps in a swarm.

Yao sighed heavily once they were gone, and truthfully, Ivan did too. The Chinese boy flashed the larger teen a slight smile. "You can come in now," he said.

"I'm sorry about my little brothers and sisters," Yao began to apologize once Ivan stepped into his room. "They're...kinda nuts."

"It's okay," Ivan said. "I have a little sister...I'm kinda used to it."

Yao rolled his eyes and began to chuckle. _"Tell _me about it," he groaned jokingly. "It _can _be fun to be the oldest though. I get to boss them around."

Ivan laughed wholeheartedly. Yao was being so causal with him, so friendly towards him, that he immediately began to feel at ease.

He surveyed the brunette's room curiously. It was but a bit tidier than the rest of the house; the biggest bed, which Ivan assumed to be Yao's, had nothing to hold it together—it was essentially just a large mattress on the floor, with some bedding, pillows, and blankets lazily thrown on it. Ivan noticed that one of the pillows Yao had was designed like the Chinese flag, and one of his blankets had Chinese characters on it; Ivan thought that was quite cool. Against the other side of the wall was a pair of bunk beds, indicating that Yao shared his room with two of his "nutty" siblings; both were made the same sloppy way as Yao's bed. There were a few dressers, including a small one that had a little black TV perched on top of it.

"I was in the middle of a video game—you wanna play with me?"

Ivan snapped his head back towards Yao as the boy talked to him.

Ivan looked over at the television screen, to see the game the boy had been playing—_Grand Theft Auto. _The fifth one, it looked like. Ivan smiled. That was one of Alfred's favorite video games.

"Sure," Ivan said.

Yao smiled, and sat down in front of the TV. "I'm sorry—I have two controllers, but we can't do multiplayer. We're gonna have to take turns."

"That's fine." Ivan sat down next to Yao and took the other Xbox controller. However, his eyes widened when he saw it had...bite marks on it?

"Oh snap," Yao said in only slight surprise as he glanced down at Ivan's controller. "I forgot—my youngest sister's going through a 'chew-on-everything-she-sees' phase. She got a hold of that controller one day and...yeah."

Ivan couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Oh...I see."

"I mean, it's clean," Yao verified quickly. "It's not like it still has spit on it or anything." He held up his own controller. "But you can still use mine if you want..."

"No...it's okay. I'll just use this one."

Yao let Ivan play first. Even though the Russian had played the game quite a few times before at Alfred's house, Yao still had to remind him, occasionally, of what all the controls and buttons meant.

"So...tell me more about what you were trying to tell me in Ms. Sawyer's class yesterday." Yao said as he watched Ivan play.

Ivan, still with his eyes on the game, furrowed his brows. "About what?"

"You know," Yao said. "About that fight I had with Alfred and stuff."

Ivan was surprised. "Well..." His brows continued to knit together as he mused. "I mean..._I'm _sorry for that fight that happened...but I still think Alfred's kinda upset about it."

Ivan took a quick glance at Yao. The Chinese boy smooshed his lips to the corner of his mouth, and shrugged. "I'm not really surprised," Yao admitted. "Alfred...he's kind of a hothead, isn't he?"

Ivan nodded.

Yao paused for a few moments. "I mean...that was the only fight in school I've ever been in."

Ivan raised his brows just slightly. "Really?" He turned his head to the right, and he saw Yao nod.

"Are _you _still angry about the fight?" Ivan dared to ask.

He heard Yao sigh. "Okay, you got me. I'm still a _little _mad—peeved, I guess. Alfred _did _break my fricking nose."

Ivan paused the game, and turn to give Yao an incredulous look. He hadn't thought the rumors were true. "He seriously broke your nose?"

Yao pursed his lips. "Yup." He then looked straight at Ivan. "It's hardly noticeable now...but it's still a little lopsided."

Ivan looked at Yao's face closely. "Wow. Yeah, it _is _a little lopsided, but you can barely tell."

Yao smiled, a bit sadly, and shrugged as he turned his body back around to face straight ahead.

Ivan unpaused the game and continued playing. "Well...I guess you hope that _I'm _not mad."

The Chinese boy didn't say anything. Ivan huffed, and said to Yao something that he'd been holding back for a long time: "The fight was kinda my fault, anyway."

To Ivan's surprise, Yao immediately denied this. "No it wasn't."

The fact that Yao had said this so vehemently almost made Ivan feel embarrassed. "I guess—but still...you guys were fighting over me."

"Yeah," Yao admitted. "But...look at it like this: _we _were the ones that threw hands. _I _was the one who punched his nose, and he was the one who _broke _my nose. Nothing to do with Ivan. Ivan didn't throw one punch, or break anybody's nose. Fair?"

Ivan didn't know if Yao had meant to be joking or not, but when he looked to his right and saw the brunette's grinning face, he was free to giggle. "...Yeah. Fair." But he'd gotten Yao's point. "I guess it wasn't really my fault."

"And—" Yao swallowed as he continued, "—this may sound cliche, but I know we've had our differences in the past. I was a little dick last year; I know that now. I hope you're not still pissed about the way I treated you—but if you are, I don't blame you."

Ivan was, to say the least, surprised to hear this from Yao. "I'm not," he said—though in truth he was _never _really mad about it; just sad, then heartbroken, then numb...then forgetting, because then he'd started dating Alfred. And that was the best thing he could've ever hoped for.

"I'm not, either," Yao concluded. "So...I guess this means we can be...friends now?"

The word _friends _rolled off Yao's tongue in a weird way, as if he felt awkward about saying that word in front of Ivan. But the bigger boy just paused the game, and looked at Yao; the smaller boy had his hand out, clearly asking for a handshake.

Friend. Ivan finally had a friend. And that kid was Yao Wang, and he was _offering _friendship to Ivan—just through a shake of the hand. All he had to do was shake Yao's hand, and he'd have a friend. Sure, Ivan knew on a deeper level it wasn't that simple...but it sure was a great place to start.

Yao must've mistaken Ivan's blank expression for doubtfulness instead of disbelief, and he chuckled. "Aquaintances, then?" He moved his hand slightly, indicating for Ivan to shake it.

Ivan grasped his large, bulky hand into Yao's small, veiny one and shook. "Friends," he said.

Yao smiled. Ivan returned that smile.

The boys continued to play _Grand Theft Auto _for another hour. Soon it was Yao's turn, and Ivan discovered quite quickly that he was...well, quite the person to play a video game with. He reminded Ivan so much of Alfred in the way he screamed at the game characters when they did something wrong, as if the make-believe people could hear him through the screen; the way he comically said _bam, bam, bam! _every time he shot at something; the way he became completely invested in the game, so that his head hung low and his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on the tiny TV screen like his life depended on it. Yao was wildly fun to play video games with.

Soon, Ivan's mom had called him home for dinner, and he had to start walking back. As he walked, he felt a happy, giddy feeling; Ivan wondered if this was how Alfred felt every time he left his friends' houses.

The smile stayed on Ivan even as he walked through his front door. Everything everybody had said was right all along—having friends _was _great. Ivan hoped that he would get more and more, so that he could feel this happiness and giddiness all the time.

••••••••

**Yay...our boy Ivan has a friend now! Hopefully that was a pleasant surprise for you guys—or maybe it wasn't ;)**

**Also, I love Yao's crazy mom XD She reminds me of my old Mandarin Chinese teacher.**

**'Til next time!**


	10. Lovino's Party - Part One

**_The next day - Friday_**

Alfred and Ivan were walking to the latter's home, after a regular hectic Friday at school.

"You should _really _come with me, dude," Alfred tried to convince Ivan. "It'll be really fun!"

"I don't know," Ivan said, shrugging. Alfred had first brought up the party Lovino Vargas was throwing on the weekend at lunch that day. Ivan was hesitant, of course; the only parties he'd ever been to with his peers was Alfred's sixteenth birthday, and all the ones he'd went to in elementary school where the child (or, truthfully, probably the parents), would be kind enough to invite every kid in the class—no matter what.

Alfred threw his hands on his thighs and grunted a little bit. "C'mon, Ivan. Literally _everybody _is going. Even some sophomores are coming, because of Lovino's little brother—you'll be fine."

An idea then popped into Ivan's head. "Hey...I wonder if _Kiku _is going. He's really good friends with Lovino's brother, isn't he?"

Alfred ran a hand through his hair. "Huh—I didn't think about it. But yeah, you're right." He shrugged. "I don't know. Kiku doesn't even really seem like a big party type-person anyway."

"Yeah, but neither is Lovino's brother," Ivan pointed out.

"Neither does Lovino himself, really," Alfred said. "He just has a lot of _friends _who are popular. And I think it was more of his grandpa's idea, to celebrate opening the pool for the year and whatever. His family's really good friends with Antonio's, you know. Him and Lovino are practically brothers themselves."

Ivan thought for a bit, then sighed. "Well, even if there _are _younger kids coming...I don't know. I think I scare most of them, anyway."

The couple shared a hearty chuckle as they walked through the front doors of Ivan's house.

As soon as they walked in, they heard something unusual—lively chatter coming from the dining room area. The couple gave each other an odd glance, and walked towards there.

When they did, Ivan's mother blocked the doorway with a smile. She then inched over to let the boys come in. "Guess who decided to visit!" she said excitedly.

"Who?" Alfred asked, even though him and Ivan had already caught a glimpse of who it was—Ivan's older sister, Katyusha. The girl was sitting on the dining table, with an assortment of treats and goodies in front of her.

"Hey!" she greeted her little brother as he went to stand next to her. "I know, I know...you're thinking, 'oh my God, leave'."

"No!" Ivan denied as he bent down to hug Katyusha. "I missed you!"

"I know," she scoffed. "I was kidding."

Now feeling embarrassed, Ivan pulled back and studied his older sister closely. She was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse with blue overalls—farmer's girl clothing. Ivan couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy; this girl before him didn't look like his sister.

"I brought some food," Katyusha said as she waved towards the foil-wrapped plates on the table.

Ivan and Alfred didn't miss a beat. They immediately began to unwrap the foil to see what treats she'd brought. Katyusha chuckled sweetly as she watched this, and she gently ruffled Ivan's hair in a motherly way as the boy bit into a cookie.

Just then, they heard the front door open and shut loudly. "Mama!" a girl's high-pitched voice called out. "I'm home!"

"Natalya!" Magda called out. "Look who's here."

Natalya walked into the dining room, briskly, as was her usual way. Alfred and her mother were blocking the doorway, so the bespectacled boy was the first person she saw. Scowling, she pointed at him and spewed out, quite tartly, "Yeah, _idiot's _here. He comes every day. What else is new?"

Ivan couldn't help himself. Hearing this, he let out a snort. Alfred and Katyusha each let out a hearty laugh, while Magda gasped in shock. "Natalya!" she reprimanded. "That is rude! No—your sister's here!"

Her and Alfred unblocked the doorway so Natalya could see the table. Her attitude changed dramatically; face blank and stained pink, she ran towards Katyusha to hug her.

"Aww," Katyusha sighed, patting the girl's back, "I missed you." Natalya didn't say anything in return, just buried her head in her sister's shoulder. Smiling and winking at Ivan, she started to undo a piece of foil. "Wanna cookie?" she asked. Natalya sat still for a moment, then nodded slowly as she turned her head around. She grabbed the snickerdoodle in a way that reminded Ivan of a quick, hungry, little white mouse.

The scene was quiet and homey for a few minutes, with Natalya perched on Katyusha's knee, Ivan and Alfred eating away at the food, and Magda smiling as she watched from the doorway.

Then, Katyusha started up a conversation. "So, Mama, did I tell you about this party I'm going to tomorrow?"

"You mentioned it on the phone the other day," Magda said.

Katyusha nodded. "Yeah. I'm going with Elizabeta—we're supposed to be sort of unofficial chaperones. It's a high school party, so..." she grimaced jokingly as Magda laughed.

Katyusha's brows furrowed in thought as she looked at Alfred and Ivan. "You guys might know the kids—I think they go to your school," she said musingly. "Lovino and Feliciano Vargas?"

Alfred almost choked on a brownie as he heard the names. Ivan, in a comical mimic, gulped as he chewed on a lemon square.

Alfred was the first to speak. "Wait," he said, trying to understand, _"you're _going?"

Katyusha nodded. "Like I said—sort of an unofficial chaperone. Elizabeta was really close with the Vargas kids growing up—she was basically like their big sister."

Alfred blinked. "Oh," he started, "I didn't know that." Then he shot out, quite bluntly, "Well, that's lame."

The older girl furrowed her brows, her mouth popping open, clearly taking offense. Alfred then realized what he'd said sounded _really _bad, and he quickly clarified. "I mean, it's lame that you guys have to be chaperones. I don't see why you can't just go. We don't even _need_ chaperones—we're not, like, five."

Katyusha shrugged indifferently. She spoke as she played with her little sister's hair with one hand delicately. "I mean...yeah, you guys are right. You're not five; we'll still be able to _do _stuff. But the _only _adult that'll be there is their grandpa—and he's getting old." She cocked a brow. "And besides—you guys are teenagers. If we _weren't _there, you guys would do nothing but smoke, vape, drink...you know—all the things that are _illegal _for kids your age."

Alfred took offense to this. She was starting to sound like his mom! "That's not true!" he immediately denied. "We're, like, angels! We've never even gotten drunk before." Though Alfred knew that was a lie...on account of that one time at Francis' party in ninth grade when the boy had snuck up wine from his parents' basement...and Gilbert's party last year where Alfred had vaped for the first time (and the _only _time, thank you very much), and everybody had laughed at him for coughing until his face was purple. Still ignoring this information (and other info, to be completely honest), Alfred crossed his arms defiantly.

However, Magda just gushed. "Awww! Are you two going too, Alfred, Ivan?"

"Yeah," Alfred said, "I think Ivan's still thinking about it, though."

Ivan felt embarrassed as he saw everybody look at him questioningly: Alfred, Katyusha, his mother. Even Natalya gazed at him, warily and weakly for once, still sitting on her sister's lap. Alfred already knew he was lonely, pretty much friendless (but of course for one single friend, now); he didn't want his family to know the same. He didn't want pity from the people he loved most.

"Yeah," Ivan spewed out, suddenly. "I'm going, actually."

He saw Alfred and his older sister share matching smiles from ear to ear, and his mother grin sweetly.

"That's cool!" Katyusha said. "I can drive you guys there and everything, too."

Alfred nodded understandingly. He had just been planning to walk to the party, or at least have his mom or someone drive him, but he wasn't opposed to carpooling with Ivan. He looked at his boyfriend. The Russian boy was smiling, but...something about it seemed forced. Not really the grin itself; maybe it was his eyes? He shrugged it off, and the topic of the party was closed.

Alfred left earlier than he normally did—he wanted to give the family some space to be together. He took out his phone to play music as he walked back home; he almost texted Antonio, texted Antonio to tell him Ivan was coming, but decided against it. It wasn't the right time to—besides, Ivan could easily change his mind. But Alfred would make sure he wouldn't.

He couldn't wait to once again be one of the gang at the party tomorrow...with Ivan, too.

••••••••

**_Saturday evening_**

Alfred let out a huff as he stared at himself in his full-sized mirror, and studied his attire closely: his short-sleeved Hawaiian button-up shirt over a plain white t-shirt; his blue and purple swimming trunks that were designed sort of like the sky (or, rather, the surface of the ocean, Alfred supposed) on _Spongebob Squarepants, _which he wore as shorts; his bulky white sandals. He'd wanted to wear his cool, suave, new black sunglasses, but decided against it; it wasn't even going to be light outside for the majority of the party, and he didn't want to look like a douche—only douchebags wore sunglasses when it wasn't necessary, right?

Suddenly, Alfred heard his mother call up to him from the stairs. "Alfred!" she said. "They're here!"

Alfred swiftly grabbed his phone and stuck it in one of the pockets in his trunks. He bounded down the stairs.

His mother, who'd been standing by the front door, walked away and smiled at him. "Have fun," she said. "Don't be out _too _late."

"I won't," Alfred assured as he rushed out the door to Katyusha's car.

The girl's car was a old, sort of run-down Ford SUV. He climbed in the back seat next to Ivan, who smiled at him. Alfred smiled back. The brown-haired girl sitting in the passenger seat, who Alfred assumed to be Elizabeta, quickly introduced herself to him as such.

"Is that your brother playing in the front yard?" Katyusha asked before she drove off, nodding towards Alfred's lawn.

Alfred looked out his window to see Matthew, playing by himself with an old kickball, bouncing it up and down using his foot. The boy stared at the SUV, and his older brother inside of it, with curiosity.

"Oh—yeah, that's Matthew," Alfred explained.

Katyusha smiled. "He's adorable!" she gushed.

Elizabeta giggled along with her, and Alfred already had a thought about what she was going to say before she said it—and, surprise surprise, Alfred's assumption was right. "He looks exactly like you!" she said, as if Alfred hadn't heard that a million times in his life.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he gruffed uncaringly. He glanced at Ivan, who gave a sympathetic grin. His boyfriend returned it, lightly.

Then passed a few minutes of a short car ride, only light conversation being held. Finally, as Alfred and Ivan heard yelling, booming voices in the distance, they knew they were going to the right house.

Ivan felt his stomach drop while Alfred felt his heart jump as they pulled up to Lovino's house: big, white and blue, with a black gate leading to the backyard just like Antonio's house. Luckily, there were only a few cars parked in the driveway, so Katyusha was able to park hers there.

The four of them got out and entered through the gate, where a multitude of people already were, even though it wasn't exactly seven o'clock yet.

Ivan began to stick to Alfred like glue. The first person the American boy saw was Gilbert; Pepsi can in hand, the German immediately ran over to greet his friend. "Alfreeeeeed!" he drawed out in his distinctive, vampire-like voice. He slammed the boy's shoulder hard and then they pressed their chests together in a sort of bro-hug. Ivan stood beside his boyfriend awkwardly as this occurred. Gilbert, in a way that Alfred saw as quite ignorant, only gave Ivan a brief glance before he continued talking with his friend. "Glad you could make it, bro!"

"Yeah!" Alfred replied. "I'm glad, too."

Gilbert then glanced over Alfred's shoulder at someone, and then he smiled, quite wickedly. "Who's that girl you came here with in the shitty SUV?" he asked. He then pointed at Ivan. "You cheating on Ivan here, man?"

Alfred tried not to get angry at his friend, and the only thing he could do to stop from doing that was chuckle dryly, though as he looked out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan smolder. "Bruh, no," Alfred said. "That's Ivan's sister."

Alfred saw Gilbert's forehead crinkle as he looked over at Katyusha, who was walking into the house through the back door. Gilbert whistled. "Damn," he said. "She got some big ti—"

Alfred swiftly punched Gilbert in the shoulder, half-shocked, half not. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle, though. "Fucking pervert," he spat at Gilbert.

_"What?" _Gilbert shrieked, laughing, as he ducked to avoid being hit again. "I was going to say eyes," he said, grinning at Alfred and Ivan from ear-to-ear. "Big, beautiful eyes. I swear."

Alfred snarled as he punched Gilbert again. "Sure you were."

Gilbert opened his mouth and was about to say something until somebody came up and donked him on the head. The boys looked up to see Elizabeta, scowling at Gilbert. "Ew," she said, sounding truly disgusted. "What're _you _doing here?"

Gilbert didn't miss a beat; he snarled right back. "I could say the same thing to you," he said. "Bitch."

Elizabeta took her fingers and twisted Gilbert's nose. Alfred cringed—he heard the crack. His German friend squeaked like a little girl as Elizabeta strutted away from him swiftly. Gilbert ran away, forgetting Alfred and Ivan, and starting screaming obscenities at Elizabeta as he began to chase her.

Alfred looked over at Ivan; the Russian boy had his arms crossed, and did _not _look happy. Alfred, trying to feel sympathetic, smiled at his boyfriend warmly. "Wanna go somewhere else?" he asked.

Ivan continued to stare down at the ground, his facial expression reflecting a mix of hurt and anger. Finally, about ten seconds delayed, Ivan looked up at Alfred's face, though he didn't smile. "Yeah," he nearly snarled, which surprised Alfred.

Alfred pulled back, a little stung. "Geez. Okay," he said. "Don't think too much about it, dude. Gilbert's always been a little bit of an asshole."

Ivan said nothing, only grunted. Alfred sighed helplessly; they hadn't even been at this party five minutes and Ivan was already pissed at one of his friends. That wasn't good.

The two boys decided to take a dip in the pool. Ivan envied how confidently Alfred ripped off his t-shirt and his Hawaiian shirt, proudly showing off his body with the prominent chest bones and ribcage, but the slightly round and protruding stomach. He threw his glasses and sandals onto the chair where he'd laid his clothes and cannon-balled right into the large pool, so aggressively that bits of water splashed onto Ivan.

Ivan chuckled meekly as he saw Alfred swim to the surface. The latter boy shivered, and let out a comical _whoop! _sound. Though his chattering teeth said otherwise, Alfred told Ivan, "The water's nice! Come in with me."

"Okay," Ivan replied. Hesitatingly, shyly, Ivan pulled off his own red t-shirt, blushing as he revealed his husky body that wasn't nearly as perfect as Alfred's. Quietly, he dipped his toes into the water, just to get a feel for how it was. However, Ivan soon recoiled his foot away from the edge. It was _coooold! _He pulled his foot onto his other knee meekly as he thought about how he'd approach entering the pool; certainly not cannon-balling as Alfred had (one, because the water _was _freezing, and two, because he, quite frankly, didn't want to make a scene in front of a bunch of people who most likely all hated him)—in the end, Ivan decided he'd just slowly inch his way into the pool using the little steps in the corner.

However, poor Ivan wasn't able to execute this plan as he was forcibly pushed into the cold pool by some strange person. Ivan gasped even as he was in the water; he plugged his nose harshly with one hand to avoid getting his freaking lungs filled with chlorine, for Christ's sakes. He swam back up swiftly, and soon enough heard the loud, charming laughter of Alfred Jones, standing by the edge of the pool, bending over and holding his stomach as he hooted.

"Dude," Alfred gasped, wiping a tear from his eye, "you should've seen your _face! _You were so shocked!"

Ivan tried to look angry at his boyfriend, but then his stoic face broke and he began to smirk. Soon enough, his boyfriend's laughter became too contagious, and so he joined in as well.

Alfred then swiftly jumped into the pool with Ivan, the latter of whom got splashed wildly with the pool water. Alfred, still gleeful and giggling, went up to Ivan and began to mess with him: giving him crazy noogies, slapping his chest, his arms, his back, bonking his big nose, dunking his head underwater in a silly way.

Ivan forgot all about his shivering, his coldness, as he felt himself be warmed by his boyfriend's natural body heat. Even though there was lots and lots of people in the pool with them, and sitting and standing by the sidelines, close to the pool, Ivan thought him and Alfred could be the only two people on planet Earth, right in that moment.

Until... "Hey, Al!"

Alfred swiftly jerked his head up. He'd had his lips smacked into Ivan's, and it actually hurt the Russian for that warm feeling to be taken away so suddenly; Alfred had unwrapped his arms, too. Now Ivan was shivering again. Not cool.

"Antonio! My man!" Alfred called out excitedly as he swam over towards the Spaniard, giving him a friendly hug. With him was an auburn-haired boy Ivan faintly recognized as being Lovino, and a girl with short brown hair whom Ivan _didn't _recognize.

"Hey, Emma," Alfred greeted in a polite way to the brown-haired girl. She planted a small smile on her face, a small smile that curled up in a way that reminded Ivan of a cat's lips, as she returned Alfred's hello.

"And...what up, Lovino! The man of the hour himself!" Alfred went up to give Lovino a boyish smack on the shoulder.

However, to Ivan's surprise, Lovino reacted quite tartly to this act of friendly affection. "Don't touch me, bastard," he spat out. "And besides, my party's longer than an hour, you idiot. And I have to share it with my _brother." _

However, Alfred didn't miss a beat; he just snorted dismissively. _"That's _your complaint, dude? This party's freaking awesome—underclassmen here or not!"

Lovino just snorted tartly. Ivan immediately disliked him—for being ignorant to his boyfriend, and calling him those names, and for just seeming like a nasty-acting kid in general.

That Emma girl seemed nice though—and least, by the few words she'd said, and how she acted towards Alfred. But she just giggled at Lovino's rude behavior, as well as Antonio—as if they thought his sourness was just typical, or even cute.

Antonio snorted, and Ivan blanched as he saw the Spanish boy dart his eyes at him. "So, Alfred," he said, "I see you brought Ivan."

Alfred's attitude changed almost dramatically. He went towards Ivan once more, leaned his hand on the bigger boy's shoulder, as if Ivan was his. Ivan liked this act of possession, this act that said _I'm Ivan's protector, and no one can hurt him—not even you, Antonio whatever-your-long-ass-Spanish-last-name-is. _"Yes," Alfred replied curtly. "I did."

Antonio smirked again, and said, quite wickedly, "heh...cuties." Though Ivan cringed hearing the bitterness in his voice, which he was clearly trying to hide.

Then, as if on cue, the Spaniard inched over towards Ivan, whom Alfred still held onto protectively. Antonio stared at Ivan, very intensely, to the point where the Russian became uncomfortable. He then smiled, widely, though Ivan sensed a hint of mockery in that smile. Suddenly, Antonio patted Ivan's big shoulder with his slender hand, hard. "Well...have fun, man!"

Ivan, crinkling his brows doubtfully, rubbed the shoulder where Antonio had patted—or more like slapped. "Th-Thanks?" Ivan had meant for it to be cool, simple, but his _thanks _ended up sounding more like a question.

Antonio turned to once again speak to Alfred until the group heard a shrill voice squeal from a distance. They watched as another redhead boy, though his hair was not as dark as Lovino's, nor was his skin, leaped over towards Lovino in the pool and hugged him from behind. "Big brother!" he cried gleefully. "Have you been in here the whole time? I couldn't find you!"

Ivan recognized the younger boy immediately. It was Feliciano Vargas, Lovino's brother; he was in art club with him—and a much better artist than himself, unfortunately. Anything Feliciano could get his hands on—stencils, clay, paints—he excelled at, while Ivan could only draw well, and that was just the result of years of practice.

However, Lovino did not nearly seem as happy as Feliciano was. "Ugh," the older boy cried, shoving his brother away from him, "get off of me!"

Feliciano looked hurt by this reaction from his brother. "Why can't I give you a hug, Lovino?" Ivan instantly felt pity for the small boy. He was nice, sweet—why couldn't his brother just give him a hug?

"Because," Lovino retorted, "you're a bastard."

"But," Feliciano defended, eyes still pleading, "we have the same parents, _fratello. _So if I am a bastard, that means you are too."

Though Ivan was ninety-five percent sure Feliciano hadn't meant for that to be a joke, Antonio and Alfred bursted out in laughter. Even Emma and Ivan himself started to chuckle.

"What?" Feliciano said, looking intensely confused, "it's true...is it not?"

Antonio then sighed out, and reached out to give Feliciano the hug he'd been craving. "I've missed you, _amigo." _

Feliciano gladly returned the friendly gesture. "I've missed you too, Antonio!"

His big amber eyes lifted, and Ivan blanched shyly as the boy looked straight at him. Feliciano's poor face began to grimace, and he shook a bit—and Ivan could tell it wasn't from the coldness of the pool. He gave a slight wave to Ivan anyway. "H-Hey Ivan," he greeted meekly.

Antonio pulled back, surprised, to say the least. He looked at Feliciano, then Ivan, then back again. "Feli," he said, "you are familiar with Ivan?"

Feliciano, probably now embarrassed that he'd gotten so frightened by Ivan's presence, tried to smile. "Oh—yes!" he said. "Ivan's in art club with me!"

Antonio stared at Ivan intensely. If it had been possible for Ivan to pale further, he did. "Oh...is that correct?" He did that mock-smile thing again at Ivan. "Ivan...do you consider yourself an artist?"

"Well," Ivan said, twiddling his fingers, "I mostly just draw..."

Then again, Alfred backed him up. "Artist? _Pffft. _Understatement. Ivan draws the best sunflowers I've ever seen!"

Ivan smiled at his boyfriend. He loved him so, so much at that very moment it was unbelievable.

Antonio didn't answer back, just whispered something to Lovino and Emma that Ivan was sure was some snarky comment, which caused the two to snicker.

"Well," Feliciano continued, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at Ivan briefly, then focused his eyes back to Antonio, "to be honest...he's quite mediocre compared to myself."

Ivan instantly felt his heart break. Antonio and even Lovino laughed so loudly at that that it damaged Ivan's self-esteem even further. Even Emma began to laugh wildly.

Ivan just wanted to die in a hole right then and there.

He heard Alfred yell back almost instantly though. "I'd like to see _you _try to draw a flower as good as Ivan, Feliciano!"

However, Alfred's yell was drowned out by the chorus of laughs by the three: Antonio, Emma, and Lovino. Feliciano smiled meekly, though Ivan saw his eyebrows furrow, in a sort of worried way—was he truly sorry for what he had said regarding Ivan's art skills?

Just then, as if the hyena-like barking would never stop, the gang heard a burly voice call out Feliciano's name. They looked up and saw a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy—Ludwig Belischmidt—and a black-haired, honey-eyed boy...Kiku (Ivan's suspicions had been right), the former of whom was holding a beach ball in his hands. They were standing by the edge of the pool.

"I thought we were gonna play some ball," Ludwig called down awkwardly. "Are we?"

Feliciano instantly forgot everything and smiled. "Of course, Ludwig!" He then immediately headed up the steps in the pool to go to his friend.

That was when Kiku, standing awkwardly by Ludwig's side, noticed Alfred and Ivan, his eyes only going mildly wide, and waved at them both. Only Ivan saw the wave, because Alfred was now glaring at Antonio; he returned it with a smile. Soon the trio of sophomores were off to play a game of ball.

That was when Alfred abruptly decided that him and Ivan were going to be leaving, too. He grabbed Ivan's wrist, hard, and dragged him towards the steps of the pool. "C'mon, Ivan," he snarled, "let's go do something _by ourselves." _

The young couple settled with getting some food over by the long table that was set up buffet-style. No hot dogs or hamburgers—only the classiest foods: garlic mashed potatoes, pasta with meatballs in a tomato sauce, rolls dripping with golden butter, and the likes. Alfred and Ivan each got a plate and went to sit at a small circular table, with an umbrella sticking up from it.

A light, flirty conversation was held between the two. Once again, Ivan thought it was special; just him and Alfred, in their own little world. Or rather, Ivan thought, he was in _Alfred's _world; his beautiful, sunny world that promised nothing but blue eyes, golden hair, a warm smile and soft lips. Ivan once again felt as if he were in heaven until someone else once again had to ruin the mood.

"Alfred? Ivan? Is that you two?"

The couple, who had been looking into each other's eyes intensely, preparing themselves for a kiss, glanced up at the voice that had called their names. It was none other than Kiku Honda. He was hovering over them and the table, almost awkwardly, holding a styrofoam cup of what looked to be lemonade in his hands. He smiled shyly at Ivan and Alfred. "Fancy seeing you two here," he said in that same calm voice he used at the counseling sessions. He went to sit down at another seat, next to Alfred. "I'm sorry to invade your privacy...I just wanted to say hello."

"...Hey," Alfred drawed out skeptically. Didn't he see that him and Ivan were trying to have a...ahem..._special _moment? Why did he have to come and interrupt it? "I thought you were playing ball with Ludwig and Feliciano."

"I was," Kiku clarified, taking another sip of his drink, "but it got boring after a while, and Feliciano went over to talk to...Elizabeth? Is that her name?"

"Elizabeta," Ivan corrected.

"Right," Kiku went on, "and Ludwig and his brother were going to go into the hot tub. Ludwig offered for me to come with, but I declined...for reasons not involving Ludwig himself."

Suddenly Alfred threw his head back and laughed. "Probably a good choice," he pointed out.

Kiku smiled just slightly. "Yeah." He wiped some lemonade off of his upper lip. "But anyways...how are you guys doing?"

"Well...okay," Alfred said, though that wasn't particularly true. He still felt bitter about what had happened with Antonio, Lovino, and Emma earlier, but he decided not to rant to Kiku about it; this wasn't another counseling session, after all.

"Yeah, fine," Ivan replied as well, but Alfred could sense he wasn't being completely honest either.

"That's good," Kiku said, nodding his head. Alfred couldn't help but study how weird Kiku looked, in his too-bulky black swimming trunks, which matched the color of his hair almost perfectly but was a weird contrast to his skin tone, and therefore made him look _way _too pale; his tiny ribcage which was too prominent; his skinny little arms. The Japanese boy had obviously went swimming sometime before, because his hair was wet, and, for once, untidy; a small cowlick popped up on his head that even Alfred had to admit was kind of cute.

"I'm surprised to see _you _here," Alfred asked. "You don't come across to me as the party type."

Kiku smiled. "You're right. Even though it's really Lovino's party, Feliciano's grandpa said he could invite a couple of his friends; so, he chose me and Ludwig. I said okay; the party sounded like fun anyway. I haven't gone swimming since last summer."

"Yeah, me neither," Alfred replied, smiling in Ivan's direction. The boy returned his smile knowingly.

Kiku grinned again. "Okay...Alfred, you wanna know the _real _reason I came to sit here?"

Alfred cocked an eyebrow hesitantly, and took a huge glurp of his Sprite. "...Yeah?"

Kiku started to chuckle—a rarity for him. He pulled his phone out from his pocket, which surprised Alfred; he'd never seen Kiku with a phone before. It was a large Samsung Galaxy—it was almost comical watching Kiku hold it in his tiny hands. He began to scroll through it. "So...after you left my house on Tuesday, I started cleaning my room, and—I happened to find this gem."

Alfred cocked his brow once again; first of all, because Kiku's room had already been _immaculately _clean when he'd visited on Tuesday, and plus, he wondered what Kiku could've possibly found. He peered over the Japanese boy's thin shoulder and looked down at the picture: it was of that school newspaper article, that headline from way back last year, and the photo of him and Ivan sitting together at their very first lunch punishment. Alfred remembered that headline so well:

**IVAN BRAGINSKY PLUS ALFRED JONES EQUALS LOVE???**

That headline that had angered him to the core, and he'd forced the newspaper club to change it. Alfred grabbed Kiku's phone to get a better look at the photo, and began to laugh wildly. "Oh my God..." he sighed out nostalgically, "Dude, I remember this _so _well!" He turned the phone towards Ivan. "Oh my God, dude, remember this!?"

Ivan peered at the photo closely, eyes wide. Then the realization began to set in and he started to giggle. _"Yes. _Oh my goodness."

The trio had a good laugh over that headline from last year, with Kiku joking about how much he'd grown as a writer since that headline, and Alfred and Ivan joking about the lunch punishment they'd had to endure, once upon a time. Finally, Alfred handed the phone back to Kiku.

"But, in all honesty, Alfred, I hope you know I'm sorry for writing that article," Kiku said quite seriously, but yet he rolled his eyes in a joking manner. "It wasn't cool."

Alfred's eyes widened. "It's okay, man, that was a long time ago." He put his arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. "And it paid off in the end...obviously. That article had some truth in it." He gave Ivan a surprise smack on the lips.

Kiku chuckled. "I guess it did." He traced along the leafy design on the table with his finger as he stared down, then looked back up again. "I mean, I guess I kinda did it to get a rise out of you...to make you mad."

Alfred smiled forgivingly. "It's cool, man," he said. "Like I said, long time ago."

Kiku nodded and put away his phone, glad that the situation was closed. Then, abruptly, his face grew rather serious. "Another reason I came here..." he sighed a little bit, and glanced from Ivan to Alfred. He motioned for the boys to come closer to him, and they both leaned in so they could hear Kiku speak.

The Japanese boy gave a small grimace. "Look, I don't wanna sound like a..." Kiku paused, and did little quotation marks with his hands, "..._snitch, _or anything, but..." He drew a deep breath, as if musing seriously whether or not he wanted to say what he had to say. "...You know what, never mind. I don't wanna cause any drama."

Alfred was now desperate to hear what Kiku had to say, as well as Ivan. The American boy's heart began to race as it always did—almost regrettedly—whenever he heard gossip, but yet...this was different. "No, it's okay," Alfred insisted, in a tone that was quite soft, "you can tell us." He crossed his heart with his fingers. "I won't tell on you, or do anything to you. Promise."

Kiku looked, still hesitantly, from Alfred to Ivan, then back again. He saw Ivan wear the same sincere facial expression that Alfred wore. Kiku sighed, and finally complied. "Okay...so, have you had a chance to talk to Antonio, Gilbert, Lovino...any of them yet?"

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "I barely spoke with Gilbert...and I only really talked to Antonio, and Lovino...and Emma...why?"

"Well," Kiku said quietly, bending his head down and then lifting it back up, seemingly still hesitant, "They've been talking...well, _shit _about Ivan—basically all throughout the party. Pardon my French, but there's really no other way to describe it."

Alfred's face grew fiery red. Oh _ho..._not _this _again! "Like what, Kiku?"

Kiku gulped. "Well...frankly, just really nasty stuff—I don't think I should repeat them back."

Alfred looked over to the face of his first concern—his boyfriend. Ivan's face was bleak, sorrowful...but yet, he had a certain look that clearly said that he wasn't surprised—that this was just typical of his peers to do to him.

Alfred, starting to see dots, then scanned the entire party to look for his group of _friends—_or, rather, the assholes who even had the _audacity _to shit on his boyfriend like this. Eventually he saw them—they were all doing a chicken fight in the pool: Antonio with Emma on his shoulders, Mathias with his boyfriend, Lukas, perched on top of him, and Arthur on Francis' shoulders. Obviously, Alfred and Ivan hadn't been invited to play. Hmmm—Alfred wondered why.

However, Alfred forced himself to keep his composure. He took a deep breath. "Okay—thanks for telling us, Kiku."

Yet the Japanese boy just stared at Alfred worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay, Alfred?"

Alfred brushed it off, replying very quickly, "Yeah, I'm swell, Kiku."

"Your face is turning purple," Kiku pointed out.

He felt a large pale hand grab his shoulder—certainly Ivan's warm hand. Alfred ran his own hand through his hair obsessively to keep from punching someone, anyone. "Yeah...I'm fine. I swear."

Kiku smiled, though shakily, and got up to leave. As he walked past Alfred, he patted the boy's shoulder lightly. Damn—even the boy's _shoulder _felt hot to the touch! "Just take it easy...you too, Ivan." Kiku tried to make his voice lighthearted, but it just cracked as he spoke.

Kiku left that small table, more hesitantly than ever. He figured his safest bet would be to go near Feliciano; anywhere but where the popular juniors stood. He wanted to be with one of his friends; to protect himself, instantly.

Because the Japanese boy felt that he'd just made a _very _big mistake.

••••••••

**Duh-duh-duhhhhh! XD**

**I hope you guys enjoyed that! I really liked writing about some characters other than my usual ones, for a change. Also sorry that there's, like, 10 ships mentioned XD I can't help myself. **

**I'm curious...what do you guys think will happen next? ;) **

**Part two of "Lovino's Party" coming soon! **


	11. Lovino's Party - Part Two

**_Later that evening_**

As the beautiful late spring sky turned from bright yellow to a creamy orange-pink, then to black, most of the well-off families on Lovino Vargas' street were getting ready to retire to bed. However, the Vargas family's house itself was still light with energy with screaming teens, the splashes of a chlorine-filled pool, and popular hip hop, pop, and R and B songs booming on the radio.

Laughing with glee, Antonio jumped up from the pool, brown hair wet and spiraling with water-ringed curls, still with his Belgian girlfriend, Emma, on his shoulders. He followed his friends to the food table, by the drinks, and then plopped Emma down on her feet beside him, quickly but gently.

"You thirsty?" Emma asked Antonio as she got out a styrofoam cup and began to fill it with punch.

Antonio leaned his weight on the table, and wiggled his eyebrows at Emma. "I don't know...are you, baby?"

The girl scowled jokingly, and slapped Antonio's shoulder playfully. _"For something to drink."_

Antonio chuckled, and then nodded. "Sure," he said, "but imma get a root beer." He reached his hand into the cooler by the table, and pulled out the brown can of cold root beer. He opened the tab; it made a satisfying hissing sound, and Antonio took a long swig.

Suddenly, something freezing cold hit Antonio on his bare back. He gasped, and whirled around to find Gilbert smirking at him, with a cold Pepsi can in his hand. "Dude!" Antonio said in a gasp, "don't fucking do that again!"

"What?" Gilbert said, "is it too cold for ya?" He pressed his can of pop against Antonio's back again.

Antonio swatted his German friend's hand away. _"Yes." _

He looked over in search of his other friends; Mathias, Lukas, Arthur and Francis were all getting plates of food by the huge buffet table. He scanned closely for the one person that was missing—Alfred. The American boy was _still _sitting at that little table with his boyfriend. This made Antonio scowl inwardly. His buddy hadn't hung out with him throughout basically the _whole _party! He was too busy with his precious _Ivan. _Was Alfred still bitter about what had happened in the pool earlier?

_Damn...some people are too uptight, _Antonio found himself thinking when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"You hungry, babe?" Emma asked him, her green eyes staring up into his.

Antonio swiggled his brows again, ready to make another dirty joke, when Emma stopped him again. "For some food...damn, you know what, I'm just not gonna talk to you for the rest of the night."

Antonio laughed, and then him and Emma went to go grab something to eat at the buffet table. After doing so, they went to sit with Antonio's friends, at a large circular table.

"Hey guys," Antonio said as he plopped down in between Lovino and Emma, setting his plate and drink down.

His buddies either waved hello to him or muttered out a muffled _hi. _They were too busy stuffing their faces, or chugging down some pop or juice.

The group started up a light conversation. It wasn't long before the elephant in the room (or rather, the table) popped up—which was Alfred's absence. "Yeah, it kinda sucks," Mathias said, putting his fist against his cheek as he lay his elbow on the table. "He's been hanging out with Ivan, like, all night."

"I know," Gilbert said, rolling his eyes, "but does it really surprise _any _of you guys? Like, ever since they've been together, they've been like the Siamese twins."

Everybody at the table let out a little nod. Antonio thought that the comparison Gilbert had given was probably a _stretch—_yet not that far of one. Didn't Alfred like his buddies anymore?

Lukas scrunched his nose, and said musingly, "Ivan's not even that _special, _really, to be honest."

Francis snorted at the boy. _"Not special? _Sacre bleu, I'd say he's a little lower down than _that." _

Gilbert snorted as well. "He's lowkey fat, too." He pointed at the table where Alfred and Ivan were sitting. "How is that bitch Ivan _still _fucking eating?"

"I don't know," Arthur said. "Alfred's still eating, too, but that's typical of _him." _

Mathias snickered. "Yeah," he admitted. "But at least it doesn't show that much on Alfred. Ivan's a tub of lard."

The entire table erupted in laughter and titters. Then Gilbert shot out something that was really lewd: "Bruh...if the two of them tried to have sex, and Ivan was on top, he'd fucking kill Alfred."

Half of the group bursted out laughing, while the other half gasped in shock. _"Gilbert!" _Emma chastised. "That's messed up!"

Gilbert wiped a tear from his eye, clutching his stomach with his other hand. "It's true, though!" he gasped out.

When the laughter had died down, Lovino said, "When I first saw Ivan in his bathing suit, it almost made me puke. I fucking swear."

Antonio smirked at Lovino. "I know, right?" he said. "How the fuck can Alfred even _touch _that, let alone look at it?"

The group was laughing so hard all their faces were red. Antonio knew that they were being really nasty towards Ivan, but hey, it was better than saying it to the boy's face, right? And anyways, Alfred had once been even _more _crude towards the very boy he called his lover. So it wasn't like he was one hundred percent innocent, either.

"Okay," Mathias started to say, still gasping for air. "But seriously...all fat jokes aside..." He then paused for a good few moments, perhaps for emphasis. "This mothafucker Ivan's a _loser!" _

The group started to chuckle again, though that joke was a bit outdated and wasn't super funny. Antonio snorted. "I can't believe he's in the art club with _Feliciano." _

"I know," Lovino said, eyes growing wide. "Even _I _can admit Feli's basically a prodigy when it comes to art."

Antonio looked at Lovino, eyes going wide as well. "I know! And here's Ivan, drawing fucking _sunflowers." _He snorted once again. "How gay."

He was the only one that laughed at his joke, however; the rest of his friends gave him cunning glares. "What?" Antonio asked. _"I'm _the only one here who has a girlfriend, so I'm allowed to say that," he defended.

"That makes no sense," Arthur said. "But fine."

"But that is stupid as fuck though," Mathias pointed out. "Who the fuck draws _sunflowers?" _

The table erupted in laughs once more. "I bet his drawings are fucking _traaaash," _Gilbert shot out in between his laughter, only making the group wheeze more.

Suddenly, Antonio heard Emma go, "shhh, shhh, shhh!" The group died down in their hooting, and saw Emma point towards the table with the punch and lemonade. Lo and behold, Alfred and Ivan were there; they were throwing away their food, and getting something to drink, it seemed.

The table held their breaths, not even daring to open their mouths, as if they were passing through a cemetery. And, suddenly, they all saw Alfred glance at them. And then soon that glance turned into a glare.

Antonio knew they were in for some _reeeeal _shit when he saw that glare. Had Alfred _heard _what they were talking about? Or was he just angry from earlier? Either way, if looks could kill...him and his friends would be as dead as some damn doornails.

••••••••

As soon as Alfred walked up to the drink table with Ivan to throw away their plates and get some refreshments, he knew something was up. He looked over at the table closest to the drinks; as luck may have it, all of Alfred's friends, as well as their lovers and Lovino, were sitting there. They had been bursting out laughing until they suddenly began to quiet down, clearly seeing Ivan and Alfred. Then they sat quietly, eyes open wide and lips pursed.

Alfred immediately began to smolder. He _knew _what they were up to! Did they seriously think he was _that _dumb? Spoiler alert, he wasn't, and neither was Ivan. Alfred continued to glare at the table icily.

Then, Antonio leaned over to whisper something to Lovino. Smirking, the Italian boy got up from the table and went to stand right in front of Alfred. Lovino crossed his arms and said quite casually, "Hey, Alfred—long time no see. Having a fun time at my party?"

Alfred internally cringed. He looked over at the table of his friends; they were all either glaring at him, or staring at him curiously. However, Alfred didn't miss a beat; he shot his jet-blue eyes back to Lovino and retorted, "Yes, I'm having a swell time—with Ivan."

Before Lovino could say anything back, Alfred spoke again. "Look—contrary to what y'all may think, I'm not fucking stupid." Then he paused, and said it: "I know you've been talking shit about Ivan—and probably, me, too."

By this time, Alfred's best friends—Antonio, Mathias, Francis, and Gilbert—had gathered over by the table, perhaps to back up Lovino, while Arthur, Emma, and Lukas continued to stare from their seats, wide-eyed and curious.

To Alfred's surprise, instead of vehemently denying his claim, his friends all looked at eat other, biting their lips, and began to burst out laughing. Alfred crossed his arms, not amused. He glanced back at his boyfriend, Ivan. Dear God—the boy nearly looked ready to puke. This only made Alfred smolder even harder. He shot his eyes back to his so-called "friends."

They had just started to die down in their laughing, enough for Francis to gasp out, "Um..."

Then, Antonio's face suddenly turned very stoic. "To be honest, Al...we're just pissed that you haven't hung out with us at _all _during this party."

Alfred couldn't believe his ears. He threw his hands up wide, his eyes growing as large as dinner plates. "I _tried _to!" he shrieked out. "But you guys kept on being bitchy towards Ivan, and frankly, bullying him!"

Ignoring everything Alfred had just said, Mathias scoffed. "Yeah...and who in their right minds would trade in hanging out with _us _with hanging out with _Ivan?" _He smirked, and pointed at Ivan accusingly.

Alfred gasped, looking at Ivan, who was his first concern. The boy's pupils were extraordinarily large and his violet eyes glossy as he began to twiddle his fingers. Alfred let out a growling noise, turning back to his friends.

But they weren't done yet. "That fucking loser," Gilbert scoffed, letting out an ugly chuckle.

Alfred bit his lip, hard. "Faggot," Antonio hissed uncaringly, "who the fuck draws _flowers? _At an _art club?" _

The group joined in with the ugly laughter, while Alfred cringed inwardly. _Oooh—_this was _his _fault for telling them that Ivan drew sunflowers. He stepped closer to Ivan, hearing the boy softly whimper. Alfred muttered something in the boy's ear, very briefly, something that was meant to resemble, "It's okay."

The group must've heard this, or seen this, for they began to taunt Ivan once again, clearly trying to get out their frustrations that really had nothing to do with Ivan; their frustrations over Alfred drifting away from their friendship. They were on a roll. "Oh," Gilbert spewed out, his voice high-pitched in a clearly mocking tone, "is the baby going to cry?"

"Want me to call Mommy?" Francis asked in a parrot voice of Gilbert's, pouting his lower lip mockingly.

Then, Antonio said something that really appalled Alfred; he was shocked the Spanish boy would even bring it up. Scoffing, Antonio said, "I can't believe you placed a stupid bet on us to bring this loser."

Alfred shot his eyes up, biting his lip so hard he almost cracked it open. Ivan, who'd already began to cry a little bit, despite the taunting he was getting, whimpered weakly. "A-Al? What's he talking about?"

However, Alfred just ignored Ivan as he replied back, trying not to scream, though it came out a little bit that way. "It wasn't a bet, Antonio!"

"Oh," Antonio said, cocking an eyebrow, "It wasn't? Hmmm, I was pretty sure you said something along the lines of..."—then he began to mimic Alfred, even making his voice like the American boy's—"'I'm gonna _show _you all that Ivan's not a loser by bringing him!'"

Alfred cringed, outwardly this time. Oooh—that _is _what he'd said. He turned back to Ivan, whose face held nothing but hurt. "I-Is that true, Al?" he whimpered again, really crying now.

Alfred stuttered. It _was—_but Ivan didn't need to know that. "O-Of c-c-course no—"

However, Alfred's stuttering told Ivan otherwise. The Russian crinkled his brows. "I-I thought you actually wanted me to come, Alfred..."

Alfred looked from his friends to his boyfriend, trying to focus his attention on both. His "friends" seemed to be smirking satisfyingly—as if this was what they wanted! How sick. He tried to explain everything to Ivan. "I did, but—"

Ivan now looked angry. "I thought you actually wanted me to come, just to have fun, Alfred! Not for some stupid bet with your friends! I bet there was money involved, too! How much was it—twenty bucks? Fifty? _A hundred?" _

Alfred's lips gaped open and shut. He eyesight was beginning to grow hazy again. He was mad, so mad—at everybody. He'd been able to control his temper until now. He glanced, hesitatingly, back to his friends. All their faces look cunning, mean, fiery, ugly. However, there was something about Lovino's face in particular that made Alfred truly smolder—he didn't know what it was. Maybe it was his fiery auburn hair to match his temper, maybe it was his scowl that was ten times deeper than anybody else's, maybe it was his sharp dark brows. Or maybe it wasn't his face at all—maybe it was the fact that he was right next to Antonio, and standing so close to him that their shoulders almost touched.

That was when Alfred snapped. Out of frustration, betrayal, hurt, angst, and anger, he grabbed the cup filled with punch that he'd set on the table during the confrontation, and splashed the whole thing in Lovino's face.

Lovino gasped down in shock as he realized his face, as well as most of his hair and clothing, was covered in punch.

It took just one glance at Lovino to make Antonio rage, as well. Protecting the Italian boy that he'd been friends with since practically _babyhood, _Antonio swiftly leaned up to punch Alfred square in the face.

Arthur, Lukas, and Emma had now jumped up from their seats to help Gilbert, Francis, and Mathias drag Lovino away from the scene, and they tried as best as they could to clean his face.

Not missing a beat, Alfred grabbed the entire bowl of punch that was sitting on the table and threw it towards Antonio's face. The bowl landed on the ground and smashed to pieces. Alfred heard the distant screaming of more than a few kids.

"STOP!" A loud, deep voice could be heard shouting. Antonio was about to throw another punch until he was suddenly grabbed by burly, dark, hairy arms. He looked up—it was Lovino and Feliciano's grandpa. Likewise, Alfred had been pinned to the ground by none other than Elizabeta herself. Alfred tried to free himself from the grip, but she was surprisingly strong.

He tried to pull on her hair to catch her off-guard, but she just harshly grabbed him by the jaw. "Don't you dare touch me," she snarled, right in his face. Alfred was then hoisted up, like a baby kitten, by the collar of his shirt. Antonio and all of his friends had been taken by Lovino's grandpa probably into the house. "Stay right here," Elizabeta hissed into his ear. "I'm going to get a dustpan and a broom and you _have _to clean this mess up. Got it?"

Alfred, still raging, shot back at her, "Gilbert wasn't kidding when he said you were a bitch."

He expected Elizabeta to spit something back, but she just shook her head hopelessly and went away to get said items. Alfred, finally beginning to calm down, looked at the mess he'd made: the broken glass, punch literally _everywhere, _the ruined tablecloth. There was even some punch in the pool, making a weird but pretty purplish-pink color. _Jesus Criminey..._ He was too afraid to even look around, to see how the other kids were staring at him.

Alfred half-turned around to see if Ivan was still behind him, but, surprise-surprise, he wasn't.

The American boy let out a sigh, half-crying himself, still trembling. He kneeled down on the floor and sat there, his knees curled up to his chest and his hands wrapped around his legs. He buried his face in between his knees. He'd just ruined things with Ivan. Completely ruined it. He just knew it. And not to mention his relationship with his friends—huh. They probably never wanted to _look _at him again, after what he'd done.

Alfred lifted his head up. _My fault. My fault. _The mantra repeated over and over in his head. _It's all my fault. _

He looked at the scene before him, a scene that could be taken out of a movie, really. Broken glass before him. A completely empty pool. A brilliantly dark night sky. Some teens still playing warily in the distance.

Alfred choked back a sob as he heard a door open and close; surely Elizabeta with the broom and dustpan. All alone. For the first time in a _long _time, Alfred felt completely and utterly alone.

••••••••

As he saw his boyfriend hurl the entire bowl of punch in the Spanish boy's face, Ivan really began to sob as he ran from the scene, tears streaming down his face. He wanted comfort, someone to rub his head and pat him and tell him everything was going to be alright, even though he highly doubted it was.

Ivan knew the only person here that he could trust to provide that for him: Katyusha. He went on a frenzy, looking for her, until he finally did; she was in the corner, close to the gate, picking up some empty cans of pop that some lazy kids had dropped.

When she saw Ivan, she started to smile. "Ivan! How—" Then she looked at the boy's face, red and in a mess of tears, and she immediately furrowed her brows as he began to stomp up to her. Choking out a sob, he grabbed ahold of her bikini coverup and buried his head in her shoulder. Katyusha's hand was warm and comforting as it played with Ivan's hair. "Ivan? What's wrong?" she asked, using Mama's voice.

Ivan sniffed loudly. His head was still buried in her shoulder as he began to sob and talk at the same time, "AlfredandAntoniogotintoafightandAlfredthrewthebowlofpunchand—"

"Whoa," Katyusha interrupted. "Slow down, sweetie. I can't understand you. What did you say Alfred did?"

Ivan took a deep breath; he tried to control his incessant sobbing, and once he did (at least partially), he began to tell her the story. He even told her the most heartbreaking part of all: that he'd found out that the only reason he was even at the party was because of some stupid bet between Alfred and his friends.

Katyusha's eyebrows furrowed deeper and her frown became more prominent when Ivan told the last bit of the story. He could tell she was very angry even as he finished telling her, and as she rubbed his shoulder soothingly and ruffled his ash-blonde hair. "Okay," she said, her tone surprisingly calm—but when Ivan looked up she was still frowning. "It's okay. I'll take care of it."

He continued to lean against his sister as she rubbed soothing circles in his back and shoulder with her soft hands; the kind of hugs that his mother gave him. Even her eyes were just like Mama's, when he looked up into them occasionally.

Suddenly, the two heard brisk, determined footsteps approaching. They looked up and saw Elizabeta stomping over towards them. She brushed something off of her and said, in a gasping voice, "Oh my God, did you see what happened back there? That freaking fight?"

"No, I didn't see it," Katyusha said solemnly. "But Ivan told me about it."

Elizabeta put her hand over her mouth, probably realizing that one of the boys involved in the fight was _Ivan's boyfriend. _Or, perhaps, she even knew the fight had been about him. "Oh my gosh..." she sighed out. She then came closer to Ivan and hunched down to make eye contact with him, as him and Katyusha were sitting down now. Elizabeta's eyebrows knitted nervously, just as his sister's had. "Are you okay, Ivan?"

Ivan's tear-streamed face probably said it all, but he gave her a so-so motion with his hand. "I'm...fine," he muttered.

Elizabeta's face then turned from pitiful to angry. "Honestly, I don't know what goes through some people's sick heads," she scoffed. She looked up at Katyusha. "To talk about someone like that. How disgusting. All of those kids should get spanked."

Ivan's mind raced. So she _did _know the details of the fight. He didn't hear Katyusha say anything back, but he felt her jostle a little bit—possibly she nodded her head?

"Especially Alfred," Elizabeta continued. "Like, that kid has some problems." Though Ivan had closed his eyes briefly, he felt the girl touch his shoulder gently as she said, "I'm sorry, Ivan."

"Mm...it's fine..." Ivan muttered back. Though he wasn't sure if he even _loved _Alfred any more or not, what Elizabeta had said miffed him a bit. Alfred wasn't sick. He wasn't disgusting. He was a hurt, frail boy whose dad was in jail and therefore he never had a stable father figure in his life, minus his stepfather, but Alfred felt less of himself because he wasn't his biological child—his younger brother Matthew was, and therefore he was a target of resentment as well. And Alfred's mother was the one who put his stepfather and his brother in his life, so she was a victim of his anger too. Alfred was a hurt, frail boy who just so happened to have a red hot temper; therefore, that was what he used to combat his feelings of hurt and frailness.

Ivan knew Alfred better than nearly everybody did—especially more than Elizabeta. But he kept his mouth shut.

"Do you wanna go home, Ivan?" the boy heard his sister ask him.

Ivan didn't know how much time had passed with his inner thoughts controlling him—it could have been two minutes or twenty-two minutes. He nodded. "Yeah."

He stood up along with Katyusha, his knees feeling wobbly. He saw his big sister standing still; she seemed to be musing about something, her lips pursed, as she stared seemingly into space. She then turned to her brother, an odd look in her eyes. "Ivan," she said, "why don't you head to the car with Elizabeta and pack up your things with her? I have to take care of something." She handed him the keys to the SUV.

Ivan nodded, and started to move, when he realized something that shook him to the bone: they had to give Alfred a ride back home! "But, Katyusha, Alfred needs—"

"It's okay," she interrupted, waving him off, "I'll take care of it."

Ivan furrowed his brows anxiously at the way she said _I'll take care of it—_in a determined, hard tone. He ignored it, however, and followed Elizabeta to the car.

Katyusha hoisted her bag over her shoulder and went by the pool, to search for the little rascal. She eventually found him—still sweeping up the glass from the punch bowl that he'd shattered. He lifted his head up, and started to wave awkwardly, hesitantly, at her. "Hey, Katyusha," he called, "When are you guys le—" However, Alfred paused and his eyes widened as he saw her angry expression as she stomped towards him. "Whoa..."

Katyusha paused when she was directly in front of Alfred. Before he could say anything to her, she slapped him straight across the face, hard. Then her hand rose to his other cheek and she slapped him again.

Alfred, completely shocked, had his mouth gaping open and his pupils were as big as dinner plates. He lifted his hand to his now-blotched cheek as she began to scream at him. "What is _wrong _with you!?" she shouted. "Are you sick?"

Alfred started to mutter, clearly beginning to defend himself, which only made Katyusha angrier. "Placing a bet on Ivan, your _boyfriend _like that! What the hell is your problem??"

Alfred immediately began to talk back. "No—Ivan misunderstood! Antonio just twisted it around. It wasn't a _bet. _I'd wanted to take Ivan just so he could—"

"Just so he could _what?" _Katyusha interrupted. "You mean just so _you_ could get a few bucks in your pocket?"

Alfred's temper was beginning to rise. "No! God, you're such a little bitch! Can't even listen for five seconds to what I have to say—just like your brother!"

Alfred gasped when he heard what had come out of his mouth. _Nice going, buddy, _he scoffed to himself inwardly as he looked at Katyusha's face, which showed nothing but complete and utter disgust. Then she shook her head, and stormed away from Alfred. "Go find another ride home," she snarled. She slammed the gate shut as she exited Lovino's backyard.

Alfred felt so, so angry—but yet, why were tears streaming down his face? Hurriedly brushing them away, he shook his head and continued to sweep up the glass.

"Alfred." Alfred nearly shat his pants when he heard a voice in the distance. He turned his head; it took Alfred a few seconds to figure out who the mysterious person was, as his jet-black hair blended in with the darkness of the night sky—but it was Kiku.

Kiku walked up close to him. "Hey," he said. "I-I just called my mom to pick me up. She should be here in a few minutes. I can...well, you can ride home with us if you want..."

Alfred looked down, studying Kiku's face for a few minutes. Then he shook his head, and turned away so he could continue sweeping. "No...I don't wanna be a problem, dude."

"It's fine," Kiku said. "My mom won't mind—she knows you, anyway. And you can just direct her where your house is...or you can just put your address in the GPS."

Alfred paused again, and turned back towards Kiku. It wasn't like he was going to be able to _walk _home in this darkness—unless he wanted some pedo to snatch him up (but that really didn't seem like a big deal _now, _Alfred couldn't help but think darkly); and, who else was he going to ask for a ride home? He didn't have any friends anymore. If he called his mom and asked for a ride, she'd ask why Katyusha wasn't driving him home, and he'd have to explain the situation. So that was out of the question.

Alfred smiled shakily. "Okay. Yeah, I'll ride home with you."

Kiku smiled back, a lot wider.

Alfred swallowed. "Thank you so much, dude," he said quietly, almost in a whisper.

Kiku patted Alfred's shoulder. He knew that _thank you _meant much more than just offering a car ride. "It's no problem."

Kiku stood next to Alfred awkwardly as the boy finished cleaning up. He went inside of the house to return the dustpan and broom to Lovino's grandpa. When he came back outside, he saw Kiku talking to somebody on the phone; surely his mother.

"Okay—yeah—hey, Mom?" Kiku asked through the phone, raising his eyebrows as he saw Alfred approach. "Do you remember Alfred? My friend?—yeah; he doesn't have a ride home. Is it okay if he...?—cool. Thanks." Kiku finished the conversation. He got off his phone and looked at Alfred. "She's pulling in right now. Grab your things."

Alfred smiled at Kiku before he went off to grab what he needed. Smiled at his use of the word _friend, _smiled at his genuine kindness, smiled at his sincerity.

Soon the two boys were heading out the big black gates and out to Kiku's mom's car—a small white Prius. Alfred was surprised at her state; she had a robe on, as well as white pajama pants. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she had no makeup on. Alfred had never seen Kiku's mother look anything less than prim and proper.

Kiku sat in the passenger seat, while Alfred meekly climbed into the back seat. He resisted the urge to lay down, flat on his back; that would've been rude. And plus, the car was so clean; he didn't want to get the seats wet from his still-damp hair.

Alfred had Sakura type his address into her GPS, and soon enough, he was home. He didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see his house. He got out of the car.

"Thank you so much for a ride," he told Sakura through her cracked window.

She smiled at him. "It was no problem."

He then called back to Kiku. "Thank you, dude, for the ride. You seriously didn't have to offer."

Kiku only glanced at him, as he was busy playing some game on his phone, but said in a quite hushed voice, "Yes, I did."

Alfred furrowed his brows momentarily at Kiku's persistent attitude, and walked up the driveway, up the steps, and into his home.

He found that the lights downstairs were turned off; this didn't surprise Alfred, for it was quite late, as one glance at the nearest clock told him—just past 11:00. Alfred sighed, and headed up the stairs. He wanted to go in his room, and just sleep this horrible night away.

However, when he got to his bedroom, he didn't crash on his bed like he'd been planning. He curled into a fetal position, lay on his side, and fought the urge to cry. Even alone he still didn't want to show weakness.

His eyes glanced then at his shelf; the shelf where he kept his favorite books, some little merchandise items from video games and TV shows he liked, and some of his favorite toys he'd loved as a child...just for nostalgia's sake—sentimental value. Alfred slowly got up from his bed, went to that shelf, and glanced at one toy in particular: a gray alien with deep red eyes. Tony.

Alfred chuckled in spite of himself as he gingerly ran his fingers across the stuffed toy. He remembered being a little kid—a little kid that was obsessed with superheroes, and anything supernatural, or unfathomable in general. Alfred didn't remember exactly when he'd gotten Tony—maybe his fourth birthday? Fifth birthday? But Tony was his alien sidekick, his buddy. Alfred remembered playing pretend using Tony with Matthew, and Matthew's old stuffed polar bear, Kumajiro, that Lawrence had gotten him from Canada. Alfred would always declare himself the hero during those playtimes; Tony was always his "awesome alien sidekick," and Matthew and Kumajiro the (sort of) willing tag-alongs. Alfred wondered if Matthew still had Kumajiro buried away somewhere; perhaps in his closet or even the attic. It would have warmed his heart if Matthew did; that would reassure Alfred that his baby brother was still in there somewhere.

Alfred took Tony down from his shelf, crawled back into his bed, and cuddled the alien toy close to his chest, breathing his way softly into sleep.

The last place Alfred glanced before closing his eyes completely for the night was his "Ivan wall"—and that was when he let out a small whimper as he fell asleep.

••••••••

Ivan sat tiredly in the back of his sister's car as they left the party. He lay down as if he were in a bed; his sister had thrown a towel over him that he used as a blanket. He used another crumpled-up towel as a pillow.

Ivan fell in and out of very brief sleep, the way a bored student in a classroom does when the teacher is yapping on and on incessantly. The low rumbling of the car made it impossible for him to fall completely asleep, as well as the animated chatter between Katyusha and Elizabeta in the front seats.

"Ivan," Ivan very faintly heard his sister call back to him, "do you just want to spend the night at my house tonight? It's quite late. I'll take you after I drop Elizabeta off."

Ivan mumbled something that vaguely resembled a yes; he had his back turned towards his sister. He was just tired, so tired and exhausted he didn't care where he slept tonight.

"I'm sure Eduard has some oversized clothes that you can borrow for the morning, if that's what you're worried about."

Ivan didn't reply back. His mind was too hazy with sleepiness.

It seemed like hours before Katyusha got to her house. She shook Ivan's shoulder gently to let him know they'd arrived. Ivan, quite miffed at having his peaceful ride ended, grouchily wiped off some drool that had gathered near his mouth and walked inside of the house, clutching his towel-blanket meekly to his chest.

Soon enough, Ivan was laying down on Katyusha's couch, with warm, heavy blankets placed on top of him and several soft pillows resting under his head.

Despite himself, Ivan grew a little excited; he'd never spent the night at his big sister's new house before. In fact, he'd only ever been there one time, and that had been months ago, when she'd first moved in. He was curious to know what it would be like to spend a morning with Katyusha and Eduard—eating breakfast, getting ready for the day, watching the morning news. Maybe Ivan would be able to go out and see some of the animals in the morning.

Katyusha gave Ivan some hot chocolate to drink, setting it on the coffee table in front of him. He only took one sip before his strength faded and he rolled over to the other side so he could avoid the glare of the TV, on which Eduard was watching some late-night game show.

Ivan was too tired to think about Alfred, and everything that had happened at the party, when he drifted calmly, warmly, into slumber.


	12. One Step at a Time

**_Monday_**

Alfred stared down at his lunch tray, and then looked up at the large cafeteria before him in contemplation. For the first time in perhaps his entire social life, he didn't know where he was going to sit for lunch.

His former friends were obviously out of the question. Even as Alfred was looking now, he saw them huddled close at their usual table, talking to each other. However, they occasionally twisted their necks like cunning little owls to glare at Alfred. Ouch.

Ivan was also not an option. The boy had been sitting by himself, and had placed his things on the seat where Alfred normally sat. Double ouch. Eventually, though, Alfred saw Yao approach Ivan; he watched as they held a small conversation. Then, Ivan packed up his things, picked up his lunch box, and went over to sit at a table with Yao and some of his friends.

Triple ouch.

Alfred scanned the cafeteria for his little brother, Matthew, and soon found him. He was occupied as well; he was sitting next to his friend, Carlos, a big Cuban kid. That in itself was a huge no-no for the American teen; Carlos hated Alfred's guts, for some reason. So he decided to steer very far away from his little brother and his friend.

Alfred thought, very briefly, about sitting with Kiku, but quickly decided against it. The Japanese boy was sitting with all sophomores, after all; dear God, Alfred didn't even want to think about how much his former friends would laugh at him if they knew he'd been sitting with sophomores at lunch. He also didn't want to disturb their peace; and besides, Ludwig, Gilbert's brother, was one of the kids at that table. The blonde boy might have had a bone to pick with Alfred regarding the incident on Saturday. So, for a multitude of reasons, he avoided Kiku's table, too.

Alfred let out a heavy sigh. He knew there was only one other option—sitting by himself. Mustering up his damaged courage, he plopped his tray down at an empty table. To lessen the reddening on his face, and to keep himself busy, Alfred hurriedly opened up his milk carton, as well as his juice, and immediately began to eat.

It was so embarrassing to not have anybody to talk to at lunch, to look across your small circular table and see nobody. But it was what Alfred had to do.

However, he took this time to think musingly, darkly. Was this how _Ivan _had felt last year, when he was friendless? God, Alfred couldn't stand that. He was barely surviving even _one lunch period _being completely and utterly alone. He had a newfound respect for Ivan for having to deal with that for _years. Mostly because of my doing, _Alfred thought to himself bitterly. He let out a whimpering grumble, and placed his fist against his cheek.

After he was done eating, Alfred got up to dump his tray. While doing so, he ran into none other than Kiku. The small boy didn't speak to him as he brushed passed, just stared up curiously as he slammed his tray against the trash can to rid it of the food. Then, as Kiku set his tray up to be washed by the lunch ladies, he looked at Alfred again, flashed the smallest of smiles, and gave him what the American boy thought to be a wink.

Alfred was confused, and a bit startled. He mimicked Kiku's previous actions and headed back towards his seat.

_Did Kiku just _wink _at me? _Alfred thought inwardly. Then he immediately argued with himself. _No...I'm just seeing things. It was just a...one-eyed blink. Yeah. There we go. _

Alfred buried himself mindlessly into his phone as he ignored the stares that he knew were there. His group of friends had surely spread the entire details on what had happened on Saturday to the entire school. Jesus-please-us.

This was immediately confirmed when Alfred looked at his DMs on his social medias. One of his friends from baseball had messaged him: _Dude, I heard you and Ivan broke up. Are you okay, man?_

_No, Mason, _Alfred wanted to reply back, _I'm not alright. _But he refrained; just talking or thinking about Ivan was enough to make him cry.

Another teammate, from football, had sent him a DM as well: _bro! wtf happened on saturday!? i heard u and Antonio got into it big! Wtf?_

_That, and I just ruined my life forever, Dante, _Alfred wanted to tell his friend_. _Alfred knew he was being over dramatic, but he couldn't help it. He felt like shit.

He saw yet another DM, this time from some random girl Alfred barely knew. Some girl named Christina—as in the Christina from his _math class? _The message read: _Heard your single now ;) wanna hit me up, sexy? _A selfie of the girl was attached to the message—a selfie that showed more than Alfred wanted to see, to say the least. _Yup. That's Christina from math class. _Alfred rolled his eyes, drawing out a sigh as he clicked off his phone.

Finally, the bell rang. Alfred had never wanted to get out of lunch so bad. Funny, because he remembered thinking the same thing nearly a year and a half ago, after his first lunch period with Ivan as punishment.

Alfred sighed again. He got to his locker, took out his things, and headed to his next class. It was weird to think that back then, he'd wanted so desperately to get away from Ivan. Now, Ivan was the only person he wanted.

••••••••

**_Day 7_**

Ivan watched Alfred's back as the boy walked a few feet ahead of him. They were on their way to the counseling session—the first time not together, for obvious reasons—and Ivan didn't know what to expect.

The Russian couldn't help but feel a strange yearning that went from his chest, to his stomach, to his groin, and then shot back up like a rocket into his neck so that it made a frog in his throat. Alfred was just so darn cute, always will be, with the way he bounded, his neck tilting slightly to the left as he did so; the way his dirty-blonde cowlick bobbled up, down, up, down, like a mischievous little golden puppy; the way he occasionally raked a hand through that beautiful, thick hair; the way he had a pep in his step, a pep in his step that Ivan so envied.

However, Ivan's heart was crushed for just a moment when the two got to the door, with Alfred just a little bit in front of his Ivan. Alfred opened up the door and walked inside briskly, slamming it in Ivan's face, not even bothering to hold it open for the Russian boy. This made Ivan sad. Alfred _knew _he was walking behind him; Ivan knew he knew.

Sighing, Ivan opened the door back up and walked inside.

He saw immediately that Alfred was sitting in a new spot; in a velvet chair that was next to the couch they normally sat at. He looked straight at Ivan. "Saved the couch for you," Alfred said, "since you seem to like taking up the whole thing every time we come here."

Ivan furrowed his brows as he sat down; Alfred had never complained about _that _before. "Is that some stupid fat joke?"

Alfred just shrugged.

Ivan let out a shaky sigh. He wasn't that fat. He wasn't. He wanted to tell Alfred this, but instead Kiku spoke before him: "Hey, hey, hey...calm down, you two."

Alfred snorted, loudly, making Ivan's brows knit again. What was up with Alfred's attitude today? Ivan studied him closely, studied his crossed arms and crossed legs, studied his snub nose that swooped straight up to make a perfect slope as he pointed his chin up like a defiant little child.

Ivan had never known what it meant when somebody said someone had a _punchable face, _but now he thought he did.

Kiku sighed just as well, as if even _he _were uncomfortable. "Look," he started off, "just so you know, I _am _aware what happened over the weekend."

Long pause. "The bottom line is, I _need _to know whether you guys are willing to work on your relationship more," Kiku said, "because I honestly don't think neither of you two really want to break up."

Ivan played with his fingers nervously and looked up from his lap. "I mean," he started, _"I _wanna stay together..."

He glanced at Alfred. The boy had lost his stuck-up posture; his legs were planted wide, his arms firmly planted on the sides of the chair, and he was chewing on a string of his sweatshirt. He spat the string out. "I want to, too," he admitted, quite meekly. A tone that was very unusual for him.

Ivan smiled with pleasant surprise when Alfred said this. He turned to his right to look at Alfred, and sure enough, his smile was met with another wide one.

"Now," Kiku said, "you guys don't have to apologize to each other _yet, _because I know there are some things that still need to get hashed out."

Next, Kiku had them do that exercise again: the one where he put on a timer, and let one person speak for however amount of minutes, while the other person wasn't allowed to interrupt. He had Ivan and Alfred each tell their side of the story.

Kiku let Ivan get first. He told Kiku basically what had happened throughout the party on Saturday, including the part that broke his heart the most: the way Antonio had said that there had been a bet placed. At this part, Alfred opened his mouth and looked as if he wanted to say something, but Kiku held his finger up to silence the boy. Ivan heard Alfred let out a frustrated grumble as he continued to tell his side.

Then, it was Alfred's turn. Ivan had to admit, it was quite interesting to see someone else's perspective on the exact same event. He said that bringing Ivan to the party was not a formal bet; it was more like he wanted to bring Ivan just so he could prove to his friends how great the boy was. This was another pleasant surprise for Ivan. Alfred brought up something that Ivan hadn't known that really shocked him: his older sister, Katyusha, had yelled at Alfred and slapped him before she left with her brother and friend. That was news to Ivan; his big sister hadn't told him _that _had happened.

The trio then had a long, thought-out conversation about Alfred's friends. "Would you like to be able to reconnect with them, Alfred?" Kiku asked.

Alfred grimaced. Ivan noticed that the boy was leaning more and more towards the couch, even from his seat in the chair. As if he wanted to be close to Ivan. That was sweet. "I mean..." Alfred began. "...Honestly, they've put me through so much shit I don't even know anymore."

Kiku shrugged. "I mean, you really should, Alfred," he said. "A boy needs someone besides just his boyfriend to lean on, at least peer wise." He then smirked in Ivan's direction. "No offense."

Ivan let out a little chuckle. "None taken."

Alfred blew out a breath. "Yeah," he admitted, "but if they can't accept Ivan, I'm not gonna want to be with them anymore."

"That's fair," Kiku said.

"I need to stop choosing people over others," Alfred said in a surprising moment of boldness. "Or feeling like I _have _to choosebetween my boyfriend and my friends. Because it shouldn't be like that."

Kiku blinked, as if he himself was surprised by this. Then he smiled. "You absolutely have a point, Alfred."

Ivan turned to grin at Alfred, for being so smart like he knew the boy was. But Alfred was too busy staring off, as if contemplating something.

Kiku held a heavy conversation with Ivan and Alfred until the session was over. The American boy and Russian boy left as normal, though this time not hand in hand.

To Ivan's surprise, though, he felt a harsh tap on his shoulder. Alfred's tap. He turned around and saw Alfred staring up at him, with a hopeful look plastered on his face. However, it was clear he was trying to hide it. "So...okay, Ivan," he said, trying to sound cool, "were you being for real when you said you wanted to stay together, or did you just wanna give Kiku an answer?"

Ivan stared down at him. Alfred had his hand on his shoulder, and was looking up with big eyes, his forehead crumpled. He had such a serious face; it was quite cute. "Yeah," Ivan said. "I was being for real." He paused. "Were you?"

Alfred bit his lip. "Hell yeah." He then picked up his pace so he was standing close to Ivan, the familiar brush of his thin shoulder against his own wide torso making him internally squirm. A feeling that was actually quite nice.

Alfred let out a chuckle. "Guess I have to tell Christina Stone I am _not _open for business." He took out his phone, and pretended to scroll through it. "That girl has been _thirstyyy _for some _d, _if you know what I mean." He then tucked his phone back away, and looked up at Ivan, biting his lip.

Ivan looked down at Alfred with a _what the fuck _type of face. He pushed Alfred playfully. "That's messed up!"

Alfred began to hoot. "Calm down, I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

Ivan laughed, really with more force that necessary, because he was relieved. Relieved that him and Alfred were able to joke once again. Though it wasn't a _huge _breakthrough, it was definitely something.

They did go their separate ways after exiting the school, however. Ivan felt lonely without a tender little hand around his waist, a tender little hand that always seemed to fit perfectly in his big, chunky palm. A round golden head to fit perfectly on his wide shoulder, his chest. Ivan thought about it until he walked through his front doors.

That was when he then realized Alfred had never apologized for Saturday night. He hadn't given him a hug or a kiss when they'd parted ways, either. _Oh well, _Ivan thought to himself, _it's all just baby steps. Baby steps. He'll apologize eventually. And love me again. _

••••••••

Alfred took it in himself to call Antonio when he got home. It angered him, but didn't surprise him, when he called Antonio and barely one ring came through until it hung up. Alfred tried to call again, and this time the phone stopped ringing even sooner. He knew Antonio was declining his calls.

Alfred fumed. _Okay, so _that's _how Antonio wants to play? _

He marched downstairs where his mother was sitting on the couch, reading a book. He spread his legs and planted his hands on his hips determinedly as he stood in front of her. She looked up quizzically.

"Mom," Alfred began, "where's your phone?"

Alyssa cocked a brow at him. "It's...right here," she said, patting her jeans pocket.

"I need to use it."

Alyssa cocked both her brows this time. "Um...sure." She handed him her phone.

He raced upstairs to his room. "My passcode is my birthday, backwards!" she called up to him.

"Okay, Mom!"

Alfred slammed his bedroom door shut and leaned onto his bed. He opened up his mom's phone, scrolled through her contacts, and stopped when he came to one that said _Alejandro (Antonio's dad). _Bingo. He called the home phone.

It took a few rings before Antonio's dad picked up. "Hello," he asked over the phone. "Alyssa?"

"No," Alfred corrected. "It's Alfred. My phone's...dead, and I need to talk to Antonio."

The other end was silent for more than a few minutes, until Alfred heard a huff, and the sound of the phone being picked up. "Okay, what do you want, Alfred?" Antonio practically whisper-snarled through the phone. Not at all his typical happy, giddy tone.

"Look," Alfred began, sitting up on his bed as he began to play with the collar of his white t-shirt, "I know you probably think this is bullshit, but I wanna talk about what happened on Saturday. I'm just really sorry for it, dude. Seriously."

Antonio huffed. There was a long pause, and Alfred, knowing his friend well, knew that Antonio was probably pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger—a habit he did on the rare occasion that he was frustrated, or angry. "Okay. Sure," Antonio then replied, his voice oddly calm, at least to Alfred. "What do you wanna talk about?"

Alfred mused. He hadn't actually thought he'd _get _this far with trying to talk to Antonio. He kind of didn't know what he had to say. "Well...I just hope that you know I'm really, really sorry for what happened. Is Lovino still angry at me?"

Antonio snorted. "Yeah. _Angry _may be an understatement, actually."

Alfred gulped through the phone.

Antonio must've heard the gulp, because he quickly clarified, "Don't think too much about it though, dude. Lovino would be the type of person who'd get angry if you held the door open for him."

Alfred was surprised; it was the first time he ever heard Antonio make the slightest crude remark towards Lovino. But he chuckled anyway. "Okay, man, that's good to know."

Then Antonio lowered the pitch of his voice through the phone, clearly mocking Lovino's tone, and said, jokingly, _"'Ay, bastard! Why're you holding the fucking door open for me? You think I'm some kind of old woman!?'" _

Alfred and Antonio shared a hearty laugh. "Spot on," Alfred commented between titters. He'd always loved it when Antonio did impressions of other people, or cartoon characters; he was really good at it, too. Alfred thought it was a sign that Antonio was coming back to his usual cheery self.

"Says the kid who dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood's grandma last year for Halloween," Antonio said.

Alfred let out a nostalgic laugh. "Oh my God, yes, that was fucking _hilarious!" _

The two died down in their laughter, and then the Spaniard's tone got serious again. "But seriously, man..._I'm _really sorry for what happened Saturday night. I shouldn't have said that about the bet, y'know, in front of Ivan. It wasn't true, anyway."

Alfred nodded, glad that Antonio had acknowledged that. "Thanks."

The next few moments were awkward and silent, until Alfred said, "Hey, what about the other guys? What are you doing with them?"

Antonio sighed. "Well, you know that little carnival-fair-thing the county holds every year? We were gonna go there this weekend."

Alfred perked up. "Really?" He loved that fair. It was the only one that was open at the beginning of the summer year, instead of at the end like every other stupid carnival (seriously, what was up with carnivals and fairs being held at the very end of August, just when kids were going back to school?). And plus, you couldn't get enough of the rides (Alfred was a well-known roller-coaster junkie), and, of course, the food (corn dogs? Yes. Lemonade? Yes. Kettle corn? Yes. Deep fried Oreos—_yes, damn). _

"I mean, you can come if you want...but honestly, I don't know how the other guys would feel about that." Alfred could practically hear Antonio shrug indecisively through the other end.

"Eh," Alfred said, trying not to sound to worried, "I mean, _we're _kinda the ones that got _into _the fight, so if you're cool..."

"Then they have no reason to _not _be cool."

"Exactly," Alfred said.

Antonio paused. "Yeah. You have a point. They're gonna have to learn to get over it."

Alfred let out a little _hmm _sound through the phone.

"You can bring Ivan if you want," Antonio offered.

For some reason, this didn't immediately surprise Alfred. He just nodded and replied, "Sure. That'll be cool."

Another long pause. "See you then?" Antonio asked.

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Bye, dude."

"Bye."

Alfred hung up the phone, returned it downstairs to his mom, and scurried back up to his room. He sat back down on his bed, hands behind his head as he looked up at his ceiling.

He just made amends with Antonio. That was cool. But...was it really _that _big of an accomplishment? Antonio was easily the most mild-mannered out of all his friends. So it was like taming a small feral bunny when there were raging tigers standing behind it, waiting to be tamed as well.

Sure, with _Antonio _it was easy to apologize, but with Francis, Mathias, Gilbert..._Lovino? _Alfred shivered a bit. He guessed he'd just have to wait until this weekend to see them again, face to face, and _try _to speak some reason with them.

Alfred picked up his phone, ready to play on it, and rolled over on his back. It definitely wasn't going to be easy to tame the tigers; he knew that for sure.

••••••••

**_Wednesday_**

Ivan poked his head curiously into his paper brown bag as he sat at his usual seat for lunch. He then peeked his head back up, and saw Alfred bounding his way into the cafeteria, lunch tray in hand. Ivan put on a small smile and waved.

Alfred saw Ivan's wave and his eyes grew wide, as if he were surprised that the boy wanted to sit by him at lunch again. Then he walked to sit across from Ivan, as hesitatingly as he did that very first time they'd sat at lunch together, nearly a year and a half ago.

"Hey Ivan," Alfred greeted, "how's it going?"

Ivan shrugged shyly, though inside his heart was racing. "Fine. How about you?"

"Oh, okay." But Alfred's eyes had gone downcast, as if he had something else on his mind. He then poked his head back up, and asked curiously, "any goodies in there, Ivan?"

Ivan looked up, knowing what Alfred _really _wanted every time he said that. And, surprise surprise, the dirty blonde was giving him the puppy-dog eyes, even cupping his hands under his chin and pouting his lip for added effect. "Pleeeease?" he pleaded. He held up his little container of fries. "I'll trade you..."

Ivan smirked, and groaned jokingly. He couldn't resist those eyes. Plus, the fries the school gave out were actually really good. "Fine," Ivan relented. He pulled out one of his two chocolate chip cookies from his lunch bag (he wasn't going to be _that _generous) and handed it to Alfred, the boy's hands cupped and awaiting.

"Mmm," Alfred sighed out, "thanks, Ivan. You're the best." He slid his fries over to his boyfriend.

Ivan smiled as he grabbed the fries. Alfred said that every single time they traded.

Ivan began to eat. Being extremely hungry that particular day, he didn't even look up until he was about halfway done through the meal. Though that was fine; it was typical that he did this with Alfred. Just feeling the boy's presence across from him was enough to soothe Ivan.

However, when Ivan did look up from his food, he saw that Alfred was chewing slowly, and staring at him intensely. The American boy's eyebrows were knitted. Ivan got the sense that Alfred was trying to ask him something, and he stopped eating abruptly and set down his sandwich.

Ivan was correct in his assumption. "Ivan?" Alfred said. "I...need to ask you something."

Ivan took one little sip out of his juice box. "Yeah?"

Alfred did a sideways glance. "Well..." He pursed his lips briefly, as if he didn't know how to start the conversation. "Antonio wants me to go to this fair with him. You know...the county one? It's gonna be with all the guys." Alfred bit his lip and his brows shot up to his forehead.

Ivan's brows drew together. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Alfred nodded. "And, um...they wanted you to come. Well, Antonio did."

Ivan paused dead in his tracks when he heard that. Antonio wanted _Ivan, _to go _with them, _to the fair? He wasn't buying it. Eyebrows still furrowed, he began to protest...but then something in him made him stop.

He looked at Alfred's face. The boy's eyes were wide and pleading. Ivan sighed. So many times he'd made his boyfriend unhappy because of his controlling behavior. He knew he had to stop trying to dictate everything Alfred did; because, in the end, Ivan just wanted Alfred to be happy. And to make Alfred happy would be to just _try _and be nice towards his friends.

So Ivan decided to try. One _last _time. "Okay, Alfred. I'll go."

Apparently, though, Ivan couldn't erase the skeptical look from his face completely. "Okay," Alfred said hurriedly. "And I _swear, _Ivan, if they're mean to you again...they'll have hell to pay." The boy held his fists up jokingly, scrunching his lips and narrowing his eyes.

Ivan chuckled at his lover's usual tough-guy behavior. He was glad, so glad to have Alfred back.

No conversation was held for the rest of the lunch period, and the bell rang soon after that.

Ivan felt disappointed, again, that Alfred only _walked _with him back to his locker—no hand-holdings, no hugs, no kisses. Ivan kind of wanted to ask for some—at least a little one-armed hug would've been nice—but he didn't want to make Alfred uncomfortable. They'd _just _gotten "back together" (if you wanted to call it that) after all.

Ivan sighed as he went to his next class. And still no apology.

_Baby steps. Baby steps. It's all just baby steps, Ivan. _


	13. The Fair

**_Day 8_**

Kiku let out a huff; he readied the things he needed for the counseling session with Ivan and Alfred as he shuffled his notebook paper and moved so that he was comfy in his chair.

As if on cue, the boys came in—Alfred, followed by Ivan trailing behind him. Kiku was happy to see the two boys once again sit next to each other on the couch. He smiled.

"Hello," he greeted, "how are you two doing today?"

Alfred smirked as he shrugged nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side in a so-so fashion. "Fine."

Ivan grinned. "I'm doing good, too."

Kiku nodded. "That's good to hear." He shifted in his seat just slightly. "I'm assuming you guys have been talking about...well, the relationship and stuff."

Alfred and Ivan simultaneously turned towards each other and nodded, looking into each other's eyes in the cute, enviable way young couples did. "Yes, of course," Ivan said finally.

Alfred then turned to Kiku, chuckling a bit. "Yup. our relationship's getting stronger." He flexed his arm and smirked in a joking way.

Kiku tittered. "Nice." He made sure to note this on his yellow pad of paper: _relationship seems to be... _then he drew a little arrow going up to symbolize "improving." The Japanese boy looked back up. "I'm also curious, Alfred...have you talked to any of your friends yet?"

Alfred smiled...though when Kiku looked at _Ivan's _face, the boy seemed to have a dour expression. "Yeah," Alfred said, not sounding nearly as glad as his facial movements suggested. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if indecisive. "Actually...you know that county fair that they hold every year? Antonio said he'd like for me to go with him; he actually wants Ivan to come with. I apologized with Antonio and everything, too."

Kiku blinked. "That's nice, Alfred." He couldn't think of anything else to say. He debated whether or not to tell the American boy that _he _was actually going to go to the fair as well—with his good friends Heracles and Sadiq. Kiku didn't know what Alfred, or Ivan, would think if they knew he was going to be there, as well, and might possibly run into them. Would they see Kiku as annoying? The Japanese boy had already gotten the hint, or at least had the gut feeling, that he annoyed the couple, what with just being at that party on Saturday. They probably thought of Kiku as a third wheel, a party pooper when it came to their fun relationship game.

So Kiku refrained from saying anything more. As usual.

The rest of the counseling session went smoothly, just as it typically did nowadays. This made Kiku happy; he thought he was truly helping Alfred and Ivan, despite his feelings of being an awkward, uninvited third wheel. It was nice that their lives, their relationship, was so adventurous, such a roller coaster; it always seemed like something new was going on with the couple at each new session. It was a sense of fun that Kiku lacked in his own mundane, nerdy little teenage boy life. Maybe that was why it was so intriguing to counsel Ivan and Alfred.

Soon enough, the sixty minutes was over. The time seemed to fly by quicker and quicker with each new session. This, for Kiku, was another sign that things were improving with the couple. Little to no tense atmospheres anymore (minus the last session, of course); that was a good thing.

Kiku packed up his things, hurriedly, and was the first to leave, as was usually the case—he didn't want to disturb Ivan and Alfred's peace.

As the short boy felt the fresh, sunny air from the outside on his pale skin, he felt rejuvenated. Though it was actually quite hot outside (ugh, the mugginess of _summer _was already coming...), it was a really nice type of hot. Kiku felt the odd urge to roll up the bottoms of his blue jeans to make shorts; but for one, he didn't want to look like a weirdo, and two, they would probably just end up coming undone anyway. So he had to allow his poor legs to be beat on by the heat; he vowed he'd put on shorts once he got home. And, if his mother was home, he'd go outside with her to help tend to the plants. Yeah. That sounded nice.

For the first time in a long time, Kiku thought about what he wanted to be when he grew up. What he _actually _wanted to be—not some random job that sounded remotely interesting on those stupid school surveys, or some ritzy career he'd tell his grandparents he wanted to be when he called them over the phone, just to make them happy.

Kiku had thought for a long while he wanted to be a journalist. He loved to write and loved to explore the lives of other people; and plus, he wrote for the school newspaper, so it just made sense. It was funny, actually; he felt oddly comfortable giving interviews to people, though he was a notorious introvert when it came to everyday conversations and interactions. Yet, there _were _downsides to being a journalist—it could be very dangerous work; the pay wasn't typically that spectacular (unless you worked for some big-shot newspaper like _The New York Times _or the _Washington Post); _it was a very competitive field; and the publicity the press got as a whole usually wasn't so hot either.

But Kiku had just discovered his strive for getting multiple sides of the story translated well into counseling, too. He felt he was doing something really special with helping people; and plus, he felt he was being heard, and coming out of his shell a bit, what with giving advice to people and actually having them _take it, _and having that advice _work _(now, _that _was something). He liked asking people how their days were, liked identifying and fixing problems. But Kiku thought if he _were _to become a therapist, or a counselor, he'd be against having his own independent practice. His mother would usually tell him stories of the therapist _she _was a secretary for; she'd often laugh, joke, and say how she thought Dr. Skyes was half-going crazy _himself, _just with having to listen to his patients ramble on and on about their problems constantly. But Kiku, in an odd way, thought he'd love that.

Kiku let out a boyish sigh as he walked through his front door. Thinking about being an adult was hard. Too hard.

••••••••

_**Saturday**_

The warm sunlight of late spring weather felt good as it beat down on Ivan's face. He walked hand in hand with Alfred as they walked towards the entrance booth of the carnival.

"Have fun, you two!" Alfred's mom had called out to the boys, waving.

"Thanks, Mom!" Alfred called back to his mother, craning his neck to return her wave.

"Thank you, Alyssa," Ivan called meekly as he mimicked Alfred's wave.

"You're welcome." Alyssa smiled and drove off.

Ivan and Alfred clasped their hands together once again and went up to get their wristbands at the booth. They ended up being behind a blonde woman with two boys, one of whom was little enough to sit in a stroller, and a small girl. The girl, once she saw the couple standing behind her, looked up at them with wonder and curiosity, her big blue eyes going wide as if she'd never seen two boys holding hands before.

"Are you two friends?" the little girl asked, her high-pitched voice raised to reflect her utmost confusion.

Ivan felt his face grow red. However, Alfred just smirked at the girl, hunkering down just a bit to get closer to her level. "Yup," he answered. He patted Ivan's round shoulder, hard. "This is my _best_ friend."

The small girl, satisfied with this explanation, gave a large smile, showing deep dimples that only the very young could possess with such a lively glow. She then turned back around to pay attention to what else she had on her innocent, childish mind.

Ivan smiled just as the small girl did—with a sweet, youthful flush. Alfred returned it with his own grin.

Soon enough, Alfred had given the lady in the booth his money and him and Ivan had wristbands put on. Alfred's band hung loosely around his thin, bony wrist, while Ivan's clung on tightly, firmly.

Alfred paused mid hand-hold, scrunching his brows together. "Okay...so the guys said they'd be by the lemonade stand..." He grabbed back onto Ivan's hand loosely, and began to walk slowly. Once the two got to the food area, and saw the lemonade stand, Ivan felt Alfred's pull on his hand become tighter, as he forced the Russian to bound at a faster pace.

Alfred knew he'd found his friends just by looking at the back of their heads: a curly brown head; a head of shoulder-length, golden, wavy locks; a silvery-blond head of hair; and another blond head topped with pineapple-like spikes. He let go of Ivan's hand, almost regretting it, and jogged up to say hello to his friends. He knew that three out of the four of them were most likely still angry with him, but he didn't care. He missed his friends.

Antonio was the first to greet Alfred—and Ivan—and he did so with a small wave. "Hey, guys," he greeted. "What's up?"

"It's going good, A," Alfred said as he leaned forward to give his Spanish friend a bro hug.

Antonio returned the hug, and then his green eyes met the meek violet ones that stood behind Alfred, the meek violet eyes that created the allusion of a timid purple aura. "Hey, Ivan," Antonio said, trying not to hesitate, "how have you been?"

Ivan tried not to look _too _nervous. He gave a small smile. "I'm fine." Then he remembered his manners and asked, "How about you?"

"Awww," Antonio drawed out, smiling, "Alfred's _chico amante _is so sweet. I'm doing good."

Ivan refrained from cocking an eyebrow, wondering what the heck _chico amante _meant. But he saw no malice, no sense of mockery on Antonio's bright sunkissed face. So he smiled in return.

Alfred then waved to his other friends. The three managed small, amiable smirks, which in itself was a big surprise to Alfred. They hadn't even sneered at Ivan yet, either, or done anything like that to him yet. That was good. Maybe Antonio had talked to them.

A weird kind of silence that was not quite awkward, but yet not cheery, spread through the air. Then Antonio clapped his hands together. "Y'all ready to go on some cool rides?"

Alfred immediately perked up. _"Yes. _I know _exactly _where I wanna go, dudes!" he began to dart over to where the rides were. Antonio, Mathias, Gilbert, and Francis all groaned simultaneously, because they knew exactly where Alfred was planning on heading.

"The Twister" was Alfred's all-time favorite ride at the county fair. It did exactly what the name implied: you got strapped in a seat, and it spun you around and around in a crazy fast speed, inducing both profuse dizziness and upchuck, the latter of which happened to the unluckiest of the unlucky. The Twister was colored a sickening green and a blinding shade of purple and was by far one of the most—if not _the _most—intense rides at the family-friendly fair. Yet, Alfred insisted they go every year. He was the only one out of the group that could tolerate the ride.

"NO, ALFRED," Francis was immediately the first one to pipe up, and rightly so. Last year, he'd been forced to go on the ride with Alfred, and it had, to say the least, _not _gone well. Alfred had just gotten done eating two greasy corn dogs, nearly an entire tub of fries, a deep fried Oreo, and had just drank a cup of lemonade. Francis had known what was coming halfway through the ride when he saw Alfred's jaw go slack, and his face go green, and less than two seconds later...Alfred's meal had ended up on his buddy's lap. Yeah. Not nice.

Alfred shot out a laugh once he saw who had said that to him. "Oh, c'mon, Francis!" he exclaimed. "What would you rather me do _this _year—go on _before _I eat, or _after _I eat like I did last year?"

Francis rolled his eyes at the tasteless inside joke. Ivan winced, knowing exactly what Alfred had said implied; he suddenly felt horrible for poor Francis.

Mathias snorted. "Okay, Alfred...Francis is right; how about let's _not _have anybody needing a change of clothes _this _year 'round." He pointed towards another ride; it was dark blue and had sort of an arctic theme, which was a bit weird. It was called "The Ice Blaster," and the seats also had icicles painted on the sides. "Besides, I thought this looked cool. It's kinda like a mini roller coaster—and it's supposed to go _fast."_

Gilbert pouted his lower lip musingly. "I'd like to give it a go."

"Okay," Antonio agreed.

Ivan shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?"

All of them, including Francis, stared at Alfred blankly, waiting. Alfred still had his happy expression, though it slowly began to die down as he realized his friends were _not _going to budge. He then began to pout like a stubborn child who'd just been denied candy. "Ugh, _fine," _he whined. He trudged towards his friends as they began to head to the little roller coaster.

As the gang waited in the line, they heard the shrieks (or, quite frankly, more like screams) coming from the people that were already on the ride. This surprised Ivan because "The Ice Blaster" didn't look _that _intense—just a very small roller coaster where the biggest bumps were only two feet tall, at the most. But he shrugged it off as him, Alfred, and the boy's friends finally got up to go in.

The gang was all hell-bent on sticking together; Alfred climbed into a seat with Mathias, while Gilbert sat behind them with Francis. And an older couple, in about their twenties, sat together in the seat behind them.

Ivan scrunched his brows together, trying to see if there was a place where he could sit. He moved around a little bit, bumping into someone. He turned around, and it was Antonio.

The two boys stared awkwardly at each other for a bit, realizing they'd probably have to sit together. That hunch was proven to be accurate when the carny in charge of the ride came up to them hurriedly. "Okay, boys, pile on in here," he said, his voice sounding muggy and depleted. He pointed to the only seat left empty, and patted both Antonio's and Ivan's back as he practically pushed them inside.

Ivan went to get in first, but the carny stopped him. "Nope," he declared. Grabbing Antonio's shoulder, hard, he pushed the boy in front of the Russian. "Lighter people on the inside."

Ivan cocked a brow up, wondering what the heck kind of rule _that _was; why would the smaller person need to be on the _inside? _However, he just shrugged it off. Antonio climbed in, and a corner of his lips twitched upwards meekly as he watched Ivan get in after him.

Antonio continued to smile at him as the carny strapped them up, huffing as if he were just completely done with this job as he did so. "Once the ride starts...grab on here _tight," _the dark-skinned man ordered strictly, motioning to the metal handlebars.

Ivan cocked a brow again, glancing over at Antonio, who wore the same confused expression. He then looked down at how—rather lazily—him and Antonio had been strapped up. _Damn, if Mr. Indian guy cares so much about our safety, he could've _strapped us up _tighter__... _Ivan thought to himself. He gulped, now growing nervous. He thought about the screams he'd heard from the previous riders. His stomach began to churn.

Ivan heard a whooping sound come from a few seats in front of his and Antonio's. Gilbert and Francis turned around, shrieking excitedly, and waved to Antonio and Ivan, who were a few seats behind them.

Ivan, pleasantly surprised, waved back to them. Francis smiled in return, while Gilbert gave a shaka sign. He heard Antonio let out a hoot beside him. "Hey, Francis...good thing Professor Puke isn't beside you _this _time!"

Francis laughed loudly, while the boys heard an offended cry come out from the distance. "Not funny, guys—I can hear you!" It was Alfred.

Francis, Antonio, Mathias, and Gilbert died laughing, and even Ivan joined in merrily. It was nice to have someone to laugh with that wasn't Alfred, or even Yao.

Then the ride started up. Antonio let out a snort. "Grab on here _tight," _Antonio whispered in Ivan's ear, completely mimicking the carny, putting extra emphasis on the word _tight,_ just as that man had. He clasped his hands on the bars. "Or else you gonna die, Ivan..."

Ivan let out a laugh, and he let his big hands grasp _tightly _onto the handlebars.

The ride started out slow at first, and then it went faster...and faster. Suddenly, when the speed picked up to an unbelievable amount, Antonio was thrust into Ivan's side. Ivan heard Antonio's shocked and, quite frankly, horrified screams right by his ear as the boy was crushing into his side. The poor Spaniard gripped onto the handlebars for dear life, and Ivan could see the veins on the boy's thin wrists pop out profusely as he used all his strength to hang on as tight as he possibly could.

Ivan seriously feared that skinny little Antonio was going to fly right out of his seat, even while he was gripping on as tightly as he was. Ivan swore, Antonio was poking his elbow and his hips straight into his ribs, he was that leaned into the Russian. And Ivan was a big guy—so it wasn't quite often, to say the least, that he actually _felt _his ribs. He could _clearly _see now why that guy had told the two that lighter people were to go first. Hell, if Ivan had been the one on the inside of the cart, Antonio, in the least, would have had quite a few broken bones to deal with.

Just when Ivan thought he was going to both go deaf from the high-pitched screams that filled his ears (courtesy of Antonio), and have his rib cage broken by a thrusting elbow (also courtesy of Antonio), the ride began to slow down, and then it stopped.

Ivan saw Antonio huff; he scooted away from Ivan and loosened his death grip on the handlebars. He threw his head back, and then began to giggle giddily. That small giggle soon turned into huge laughter, and his tan hand laid on Ivan's shoulder. He heaved again, still seemingly out of breath. "Damn, Ivan" Antonio finally got out, still gripping Ivan's shoulder, "that was _intense." _

Ivan could readily agree. Antonio cocked his brow. "You okay, man? I went fricking flying into you pretty hard."

Ivan let out a shy little laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are _you _okay, Antonio?"

The Spanish boy grinned. "Yeah." He stretched, and Ivan heard the sound of his bones pop crisply as he did.

"Dude, I seriously thought you were gonna _fly _out!" Ivan exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

Antonio's eyes grew wide as well, and his mouth hung slightly open. "I seriously thought I was, too! I see know why that dude told us to 'hold on _tightly'," _he said, mimicking the carny's nasally voice again.

"Right!" Ivan said. Then said carny came up to unbuckle the two from their seats.

Mathias, Francis, Alfred, and Gilbert immediately walked up to them once they'd been unbuckled. "Bruh...that ride was, um..._way _more intense than I thought, dude!" Alfred exclaimed, his blue eyes looking wild.

Mathias' eyes grew wide as he glanced at his Spanish friend. "Dude, Antonio..." he sighed out, "we could hear you _shrieking _from all the way fricking there!" He pointed, vaguely, to the spot he and Alfred had been sitting.

Antonio smiled, almost proudly. He wrapped a brown arm around Ivan's thick neck and used his other hand to pat the Russian boy's stomach lightly, affectionately. "Yup, Ivan saved me from death," he said. "Good thing he's like a big cushion."

Ivan blushed, though he knew Antonio had meant to say that lightheartedly, for once. The rest of the gang chuckled in good spirits.

Gilbert snorted. "I lowkey wish I would've ridden with Ivan," he scoffed. "Francis didn't save me from shit. And his pits stink like Pepe Le Pew's asshole."

Francis immediately swatted at Gilbert for saying this, while the rest of the group hooted. They trekked down the little metal steps away from the ride until their feet hit the muddy grass again. They began to walk, the six of them, side by side, laughing giddily as they headed off to go on some other ride to quench their teenage thirst for adrenaline and fun.

Ivan knew that Mathias, Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert weren't really his _friends _yet, for they were still a long way from having that label put upon them; but at least he didn't have the instinct to cower anymore in their presence. Ivan wasn't afraid of them anymore, and vice versa. Even if they did try something on Ivan, the Russian knew the first person to have his back would be his sweet boyfriend. He knew Alfred would always get out of his way to protect _him _first. Or at least, he hoped.

Ivan suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to squeeze Alfred's hand; he did, and Alfred glanced up at him so meekly, with a childish glint in his eyes that Ivan had very rarely seen before. Then he realized who the large, big-nosed, silver-haired kid towering over him was, and he smiled.

Ivan squeezed Alfred's hand tighter, and smiled back. Alfred then twisted his golden-blond head to laugh at some joke Mathias had cracked, a laugh that was like music to Ivan's ears.

••••••••

"Wanna try some deep fried butter, Kiku?"

Kiku looked up and saw dark green eyes framed by a tan face scanning him intensely. He glanced past the little brown stubbles on his friend Sadiq's face, and met the Turkish boy's grin.

Kiku wrinkled his face in disgust. "Ew, no...that sounds gross."

Sadiq shrugged indifferently, and turned to face the food counter again. "Your loss," he told the Japanese boy.

Kiku just shrugged right back, and went to go sit at a little bench with his other friend Heracles. He needed to get away from that food truck—the revolting stench of frying grease was starting to make him feel sick.

He planted his butt on the seat across from Heracles, who was munching on something sweet—a waffle, or funnel cake, it looked like. Kiku peered over curiously to see what his friend was eating. It had rainbow sprinkles and what seemed to be vanilla icing on it. "What's that you're eating, Heracles?" he asked.

Heracles smiled, and held his treat up. It was a cookie, shaped and baked to look like a cat. "An animal cookie," he said simply. "They had dogs, bunnies, monkeys—but I chose a cat."

Kiku rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Wow...I never thought you would've."

Heracles smirked knowingly, and he held up the cookie towards his mouth; he quickly darted his pink tongue out and took a swipe at the icing, getting some sprinkles on his lips in the process.

Kiku scrunched his lips together and narrowed his eyes, making a sort of _you're weird _type of face. Heracles smiled, and bit the ear off of his cat cookie.

Just then, Sadiq came back to the bench, deep fried butter in hand, and plopped down next to Kiku. He took a deep breath, and glanced awaitingly at his food that just screamed out _diabetes on a stick. _"Well," Sadiq sighed, "time for me to taste-test this bad boy."

Kiku fought the urge to cover his nose; dear God, it smelled even _worse _up close. And not to mention it looked sickening; the coating was deep brown and shining with grease, and yellow stuff that was surely the butter was oozing out at some parts. Sadiq's hand was already starting to get matted with oil as he held the stick. He took another deep breath, and bit in. There was displeasure on his face as soon as he started to chew, but it was clear he was trying to hide it.

Heracles and Kiku glanced at each other, biting their lips to suppress giggles. "Is it good, Sadiq?" Kiku asked his friend.

Sadiq tried to smile. He gave a really pitiful thumbs up. "Yeah," he said. "It's...awesome."

Sadiq continued to chew for a few more seconds, with an awkward silence hovering through the air. Then he abruptly stopped, and held one finger up. "Excuse me," he said, one of his cheeks stuffed. He jumped up from his seat on the bench and headed over to—lo and behold—the trash can.

Then Heracles and Kiku glanced once more at each other, pursing their lips—and then they began laughing. They both glanced over at their poor friend; his shoulders were hunched just slightly as he stood very close to the trash can, hands on his hips, still trying to look casual and put up a cool front, even as he was only visible to Heracles and Kiku from behind. Sadiq then turned and practically marched back up to his seat, chin held high.

"Excuse me," Sadiq apologized again. "The...butter on that wasn't melted all the way."

Kiku rolled his eyes doubtfully. _"Suuuure..."_

Sadiq then sat, blinking awkwardly for a good few moments. Then he broke, groaned, and twisted his face up. "Okay, you got me," he admitted. "That was _disgusting." _He hunched over and spat onto the grass. He then stole one of Heracles' napkins and began to wipe at his tongue ferociously, clearly trying to get the taste of that deep fried horror out of his mouth.

Kiku glanced over at Heracles, winked, and then handed his spare water bottle to his Turkish friend. "Here, Sadiq...want some water?"

Sadiq grabbed at it, desperately. He undid the cap, and began to chug.

Kiku, trying to suppress a laugh, glanced to his left for no good reason other than to admire the array of all different kinds of people that roamed the fair—people-watching. That's when he looked smack dab at them—Mathias Kohler, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Franics Bonnefoy, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo...and Alfred and Ivan. His eyes went wide, and he quickly turned his head back, hoping the group of six wouldn't notice him.

Though Kiku tried to ignore it, he heard Alfred's indistinguishable voice ring out: "Whoa, they have _deep fried butter on a stick _here!? Dudes, let's go try it!"

The small gang of six went up to the food truck—right in front of where Sadiq, Kiku, and Heracles were sitting at the table. Kiku still continued to try and ignore them; he turned to face Sadiq once more.

Then Sadiq crept his head up, and a smirk passed his lips as he looked over at the line forming in front of the food truck. "Oh man," he said, pointing at Alfred, "that guy's in for some trouble. Should I go up and warn him?"

Sadiq continued to smile at the group, and Heracles had turned to see what his friend was pointing at. Then, suddenly, Sadiq did a double take. "Oh my gosh," he said, "is that _Alfred Jones?" _

The Turkish boy kept staring, now in amazement, and before Kiku could answer him, he heard a voice call his name. He snapped his head. "Hey," Alfred called. "Is that you, man?"

Kiku paused, not knowing what to say or who to say it to first. Alfred stole away from his spot in the line and went over to where Kiku was sitting at the table. The Japanese boy looked at the faces behind Alfred, the faces of his friends and boyfriend; Antonio, Gilbert, Mathias, and Francis had sort of...well, not quite _stunned _expressions, but more like just surprised. Ivan had a blank look, until Kiku slowly saw a smile grow on his face.

"Hey," Alfred greeted once he got to the table, "I didn't know you were coming, Kiku."

Kiku still didn't say anything, just looked up at Alfred, hoping the small smile he planted on his face was enough. Alfred placed his hands on his hips. "So, how's it going?" the American boy asked.

Kiku shrugged. "Oh, fine," he said simply.

Alfred scrunched his brows upward, and pointed at Heracles and Sadiq. "These your friends?" he asked.

Kiku nodded in return.

"Cool." Alfred's forehead crinkled together as he got a confused look on his face. He pointed at Sadiq again. "I think I know you...you're _Sadiq, _right?"

Sadiq nodded, his eyes looking wide.

Alfred then turned to Heracles. "And you're...Harold?"

Kiku heard Sadiq let out a snort. Heracles blushed as he looked up at Alfred. "...Heracles," he corrected meekly.

Alfred's mouth went agape just slightly; he glanced at Sadiq, who was trying to cover a laugh with a fist, and then he blushed as if he were embarrassed. "Right...well, sorry, dude," he apologized.

"It's fine," Heracles said slowly.

Alfred then looked back at Kiku, and began to nod very slowly, smirking slightly. "Cool," he said again, almost in a whisper. Then he smacked his lips, and turned to leave. "Well, okay, I won't bug you anymore...have a nice time, Kiku!"

Kiku smiled. "You have a nice time too, Alfred."

When Alfred was halfway back to the food truck, Kiku stopped him. "Hey, Alfred?"

Alfred turned back, giving a confused expression. "Hm?"

Kiku smiled, and began to chuckle in spite of himself. "Hey...my friend Sadiq said you shouldn't try the fried butter. He said it's nasty; he just spitted it out."

Kiku felt a light punch in his shoulder—surely from Sadiq. The four of Alfred's buddies started to laugh wildly in the near distance, and even Ivan began to chuckle. "I told you so, Al!" Gilbert shouted at Alfred.

A red blush heated the American teen's face again, and he turned from Kiku and Sadiq to his friends, and then back again. He blew a raspberry, and waved Sadiq and Kiku off dismissively. "Whatever," he said, turning back around again, "if it's gross and I spit it out, I spit it out." He began to walk, but then twisted his head around once more. "Mind you...I've got a stomach of iron, though!"

"Too bad your brain isn't the same," Mathias retorted jokingly.

"That doesn't even make any _sense," _Alfred argued back. "Shows how smart _you _are."

"Says the dude who has the IQ of a piece of chalk."

Then the voices were drowned out as they began to crowd in a line once more.

Shortly after that, Kiku had seen Alfred and his friends walk off, with the stick of heart disease grasped tightly in the dirty-blond boy's hands.

Kiku and his friends got up to go do something else—play games, most likely, because they'd all just eaten (Kiku had gotten—get this—lasagna, over at a food truck that was making Italian dishes. Sadiq had laughed hysterically when he'd seen this; "who the hell gets _lasagna _at a fair—lasagna! Out of all the things," he'd said).

Though he'd hoped to _not _see Alfred and Ivan—and definitely not their crazy gang of fellow juniors—at the fair, Kiku felt a weird sense of...well, accomplishment, that he _had _seen them. It was just that he was glad to see Alfred back with his friends and having fun again; and it _definitely _felt nice that he was being cheery with Ivan again, and that his friends had seemed to accept Ivan.

Kiku took in a fresh breath of air as him, Heracles, and Sadiq headed over to a balloon-popping game. Yes, he was helping Alfred and Ivan—and that felt good.

It was truly refreshing to see what something that had started out as so simple could eventually accomplish.

••••••••

**Hey again!**

**My inspo for "The Ice Blaster" was actually a ride at this fair I'd gone to last summer. It was crazy and intense and dizzy-inducing and _fast. _Just to simplify, when my cousin and I rode together, I was Antonio and my cousin was Ivan XD**

**And I added the deep-fried butter and food truck part in because, hey, why not. I've never tried deep fried butter before, but I've always imagined it as being _gross. _Like, I'd like to meet the person who thought of tossing straight butter into a deep fryer XD But I guess I shouldn't knock it til I've tried it, right...? **

**Anyways...have a nice day! The _last chapter _will be out soon!**


	14. Graduations

**_Day 9_**

When Alfred went in with Ivan for their second-to-last day of counseling for the _school year_ (crazy to think it was going to be ending in less than a _week), _he noticed that Kiku was...acting strange. Sort of _lonely, _more like. He talked to the couple normally, but every once in a while Alfred noticed his eyes going downcast, and he looked into his lap more often.

Alfred brought it up to Ivan when they went to leave. "Did you notice anything...weird about Kiku? Today at the session?"

Ivan twirled the red lollipop he held in his hand between his lips. He looked over at Alfred, and took the sucker out briefly. "Mm," he said, "...yeah. I think I know what you mean."

"He looked kinda sad."

Ivan continued to lick his lollipop. Alfred huffed, and spoke again. "What do you think was bothering him?"

Ivan shrugged. He thrust his sucker out, making a loud _pop _sound. "I don't know. Maybe it's because school's ending? Or maybe because we're almost done with counseling?"

Alfred thought about it. "Upset about school being out? I don't think Kiku's _that _much of a nerd." He laughed lightly, meaning for this to be a joke, but Ivan didn't chuckle with him. "And...I dunno. I don't think he'd be too upset about the _counseling. _It doesn't seem like his _favorite _thing to do in the world."

Ivan made a _hmm _sound. "Well, he _did _seem to like it better as the sessions went on...don't you think? He was really hesitant to do them at first; now he seems more comfortable."

Hmm. Ivan _did _have a point. "Yeah," he admitted, "I guess you're right. But to be _upset? _About not having to counsel _us _anymore?"

Alfred laughed once more, and this time his boyfriend joined in. "We _are _pretty dramatic, babe," Ivan said.

"I know, right!" Alfred agreed, letting out an airy hoot. "Like, seriously, somebody could write a story about us!"

"More like _two_ stories," Ivan said.

Alfred snorted. "Naw. Nobody in their right minds would take the time out of _their _lives to write some dramatic stories about our relationship."

Ivan shrugged. "Maybe."

The two continued to walk, silently for a moment. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Alfred brought up an idea that surprised Ivan pleasantly: "Hey...you know what we should do? We should kinda give Kiku like, a present or something. Just as a thanks for counseling us, and being there for us."

Ivan considered the idea as he turned to his boyfriend musingly; that _would _be a courteous thing to do. He would have never thought in a million years Alfred would even suggest doing such a thing. He was a nice boy, obviously, but he was rather meek and shy when it came to showing thanks for others. "That's a good idea, Alfred."

Alfred's face brightened. "Cool! So...do you wanna shop for something, or make something by hand?"

Ivan shrugged happily, smiling at his boyfriend in return. "We could do both; we can make a card for him by hand, and we could buy him a little present or two."

"Sweet," Alfred said.

Ivan twiddled his thumbs. "When we go to my place, do you want me to get some money and we can just go?"

"Naw," Alfred said, "I don't wanna bug your mom."

"No," Ivan explained, "I have my own money."

But Alfred still wasn't having it. "No, dude, you don't have to waste your money. I'll get some from my allowance."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's cool."

The boys walked silently for a few moments. "We can go to my place afterwards and make a card. All my art supplies are in my room," Ivan said.

"Cool."

The two began to walk towards the direction of Alfred's house. Ivan didn't know it, but there were amicable bubbly feelings growing in Alfred's heart—like the type of feelings you experienced after you've helped an old lady across the street, or volunteered at a homeless shelter. The feeling of giving; the feeling of charity.

Ivan was starting to feel the same way.

••••••••

_**Day 10**_

At the very last counseling session (rescheduled for Wednesday morning, because the juniors were having an awards assembly on Thursday morning, the day before the last day of school), Kiku felt reminiscent as he doodled on the side of his notepad. He cocked his head and crossed his legs as he drew black little circles on the side, waiting for Alfred and Ivan to arrive.

Finally, they did. Alfred walked in first; his hands were behind his back in a suspicious way. So were Ivan's. However, Kiku refrained from cocking an eyebrow, and smiled at the two boys like he normally did when they walked inside. "Hello, Alfred, Ivan."

"Hey, Kiku," Alfred replied, smiling. He sat down on the couch. Oh-so-casually, he removed his hands from his back and placed a little red gift bag beside him.

"What's up?" Ivan asked, sitting next to the bag. He also put his hands in his lap.

Kiku, when he looked at the bag, tried not to get his hopes up. _Maybe they're going to a party after school, _he thought. But no—school ended in hours. Why would they be carrying the bag now?

Still, that's what Kiku told himself in his head.

"Can you believe it's our last session together?" Kiku asked.

Ivan's eyes went downcast. He looked rather sad. "No..."

Alfred shook his head; too quickly, Kiku thought. "Nope."

He continued on. "Seriously, Kiku...you've done so much for us. If it wasn't for you—hell, me and Ivan might've broken up." Kiku stared at the bespectacled boy, eyes wide. Even Ivan looked surprised as he turned his head to study his boyfriend. "I seriously wish there was a way to repay you."

Ivan seemed to get the hint _this _time—whatever it was. He smirked at Alfred, who grinned in return. Kiku began to blush. Suddenly, Alfred lifted up the red bag, got up, and handed it to Kiku. "Oh, wait, I forgot—there _is _a way to repay you. At least a little bit. Happy birthday, Kiku."

Ivan chuckled and smiled from behind, and Kiku let out a titter. His birthday had been in February—but what the heck, right? He felt meek, and his face was an even deeper shade of red as he looked timidly into the bag, realizing that the American and the Russian both were waiting for him to see what was inside.

Kiku gingerly removed the white tissue paper to peer in. When he did, he couldn't help but let out a little gasp. Packs of _Pokemon _cards! Lots and lots of them! He pushed past the cards to see what else was inside. A...hat, it looked like. A baseball cap. Kiku took it out, and saw that it was white, with a red circle in the middle, on the forehead. The Japanese flag.

He then saw something else, stuck to the side of the bag. A card. He took it out, and looked at the front. What he saw made him smile even further: it was Japanese lettering, written in authentic black. _Peace. Happiness. Wisdom. _He opened up the card. On the left was a drawing of him, Ivan, and Alfred standing with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, framed by an impeccably blue sky and a faded yellow sun. Sunflowers bloomed all around the trio. A note was written on the right side of the card.

_Kiku, _

_We just wanted to say thank you for all you've done to help us out. We know it probably wasn't easy (we're pretty hard people...lol) but you tried, and that is what matters most. And trying and succeeding is even better. And that's what you did. Again, thank you, buddy._

_Your friends, _

_Ivan and Alfred_

Kiku didn't even know how to begin saying thank you. He looked up at Alfred's smiling face, as well as Ivan's—the bigger boy had come to stand next to the dirty blond. "Wow," Kiku began, breathless. He gulped; he knew he probably looked like an idiot, face red and forehead crinkled. "Th-Thank you so much! But you guys seriously didn't have to do this."

"Dude," Alfred said, his own face growing a bit pink, "we'd be just plain rude _not _to give you thanks. And actions speak louder than words—so this is better than just _saying _thank you...right?"

Suddenly, Kiku couldn't breathe. He felt his chest tighten, but not in a negative way. It tightened in a way it does whenever your heart can no longer beat any faster, any giddier, any happier; so that your chest fills up and you feel lighter, but yet heavier, and ready to burst. Kiku, despite himself, felt a weird tingling sensation near his eyes, and he knew he was almost ready to cry.

_No, _Kiku told himself sternly. _Do _not _cry. __Do _not _cry. _He blinked back the waterworks rapidly. He honestly didn't know why he was about to cry. It certainly wasn't the type of tears he'd felt himself overflowing with in seventh grade, when he'd sprained his ankle. It wasn't the type of tears he'd cried whenever he failed a test, so disappointed with himself. It wasn't the type of tears that came when he sat on the swings in the park, looking at all the little children running around, playing with their daddies. It wasn't the type of tears that came when he lay in bed late at night, sobbing into his pillow because he didn't have a father to play in the park with _him_—to kiss his boo-boos better, to give him a pat on the back when he needed it. No. It was happy, shining tears—like overfilled water balloons just aching to explode.

But Kiku refrained from that aching. Slowly. Slowly. Deep breaths. He swallowed wetly, looked up at Ivan and Alfred, and smiled. "Thank you. This is so nice of you two."

"I already told you, it's no problem," Alfred said.

Ivan, standing behind his boyfriend and twiddling his fingers, asked anxiously, "Do you like the presents? The lettering on the front of the card—it's correct, right?"

Kiku looked back at him and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I love the presents. And the lettering looks great."

Ivan, brows drawn, stopped nervously twitching and gave a small, heartfelt, closed-mouth grin.

Kiku took the bag, stuffed the card inside, and set it beside his chair. He looked at the clock. Almost time to leave! And they'd barely had a session yet!

The Japanese boy clicked his pen; meanwhile, almost on cue, Ivan and Alfred headed over to go sit back down in their seats. Kiku wiped away the tears that still threatened to flow, but tried to do so in a concealing manner. "So," the teen said, his voice huffed, "I think it's safe to say you guys have graduating counseling."

Ivan nodded vigorously, and Alfred let out a snort. "Maybe," the American boy said.

Kiku let out a laugh. He picked up two pieces of paper and handed them to the boys. "Here...Mr. Green wanted me to give these to you. It's like these little survey things. Basically you just answer the questions—all of them are basically about just how you thought of the peer counseling." Kiku paused as Alfred and Ivan each took a pen that had been placed beside the couch, and over-viewed the survey curiously. "In layman's terms, if you'd recommend me for future counseling or not."

There. That should take Ivan and Alfred the rest of the session. Kiku took this opportunity, while the teens' heads were bowed down, to look more thoroughly at his gifts, and his cards. These were no cheap drugstore gifts—if they were, at least, it didn't look it. He peeked inside the _Pokemon _cards to see which ones he'd gotten. Alfred remembered that he loved the franchise (though admittedly not as much as he did in eighth grade, when he'd dated Alfred)—but still; it was nostalgic and sweet to look through and reminisce about. Next, the cap. Kiku quickly glanced up to see if Alfred or Ivan were looking at him—and alas, they were still busy with their surveys. Then he gingerly placed the hat on top of his head. He was, to say the least, surprised that it fit him so perfectly. Kiku had a pretty small head—he didn't know how Alfred and Ivan could've gotten the right size.

Placing the presents back inside the red bag, he picked up the homemade card once more. He looked, in particular, at the lovely drawing inside. Had _Ivan _drew this? It was terrific! He remembered during one of the first sessions, when Ivan had told him about his passion for art. And Alfred hadn't been kidding when he'd said Ivan was the best artist he'd ever seen.

Once there were just a few minutes left in the session, Kiku packed up his things, and Alfred and Ivan were done with their surveys. Kiku collected them.

It was bittersweet, watching the young couple head out that door for the last time. It was the type of bittersweet feeling one felt on the last day of school; or the feeling one got when they waved goodbye to a friend for the last time, knowing they'd probably never see them again. This time, Kiku did something that really surprised Ivan and Alfred: he took his time gathering up his stuff, and headed out with the boys.

A pleasant-looking smile crossed Alfred's lips as he craned his neck around and looked down to see Kiku trailing not far behind. "Hey, Kiku," he said casually, "walking with us today?"

Kiku smiled and shrugged. "Sure, why not? It's our last day, right? Might as well." Then his eyes grew wide as he remembered his manners. "If that's cool with you two, of course," he added quickly.

Alfred let out a dismissive snort, while Ivan turned his neck and smiled, too. "It's cool, Kiku, calm down," Alfred reassured.

Kiku had to admit, it did feel awkward walking with the boys back to their lockers (going into the _junior _hallway—scary. But he might as well get use to it; in two days, it _was _his last day of sophomore year) as they got their things for their next classes. But he felt a strange need to be close to them; to be close to them like a group member in a small posse.

Afterwards, Alfred and Ivan waved Kiku goodbye. Like they were all friends now. Like they didn't just think of Kiku as a third wheel. The Japanese boy felt a hot blush stain his cheeks as he traveled over to his locker to put his presents and card inside, and to get his things for Honors Biology.

Ivan and Alfred and him...they were all _friends _now, right? He walked into his science class and saw the teacher setting up the things for a lab.

"Hey, Kiku!" she greeted happily once she saw one of her favorite students walk in. Then her brows drew together as she looked at his flushed face—perhaps mistaking it for sadness or sickness. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he told the teacher very politely. "I'm just...having a good day today."

She beamed. "That's good to hear."

Kiku sat down at his seat, and stared off into space blankly.

It always felt good to make new friends. But making friends with two people you once felt uneasy with? That was somehow even better.

••••••••

**_The Next Day - Thursday_**

This was it. It was finally fricking over.

It was the award's assembly. Though Alfred hadn't won any actual awards, he still couldn't help but feel giddy as he sat in between two kids, dressed all nice, hands folded in his lap. Sure, there was one more day of school; but it was just that—_one day. _Today, after this assembly, he was going to sign out with his mom and stepdad, and the rest of the day was his. The last day of school? Well, that was simple—it promised nothing but freedom and _fun. _

His finals were done. His ACT was done. School was done. But really, everything else was just beginning.

After everybody had clapped, and the assembly was over, Alfred immediately raced to go find Ivan and his friends. First he found Ivan—he ran up to give the boy a little peck on the cheek. The Russian looked so cute, with his violet and black plaid button-up shirt, faded blue jean shorts, and white sneakers. The outfit brought out his eyes—his beautiful, extraordinary eyes. Ivan seemed to be thinking the same thing as he stared at Alfred in his blue polo shirt; he kept on glancing from the boy's body, to his sky blue eyes.

Next Alfred found his friends—once Mathias, Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert flew up to him, they slapped him on the back as they did on the court; they began to hoot and shout, saying things like "senior year, here we come!" and "not 'til next year, bitches!" and "we can kiss junior year behind, baby!"

However, for once, Alfred didn't contribute. He had to pull back, and look and his friends and boyfriend reunited together—for once. Acting amicably towards one another. Being friendly towards one another. Alfred felt as if he were going to cry. Not the sad tears, like this past year—plus sophomore year—had been swirled with; happy, gleeful tears. Finally.

Suddenly, Alfred felt warm, strong, pale arms hug him from behind. He whirled around. It was his stepfather, smiling down at him. He ruffled Alfred's golden hair and poked at his cowlick (which he'd done out of habit ever since he came into the boy's life), making Alfred blush.

"You ready to go or what, Alf?" Lawrence asked. Alfred's mother trailed not too far behind.

Alfred smiled up at his stepfather with glee and pride in his eyes—something he hadn't done in so, so long. Lawrence didn't scold him for not getting any awards. Instead, he'd hugged him. He'd ruffled his hair. He realized then that Lawrence was really his true father, in all the ways that counted. Sure, Alfred knew his bio dad loved him, and cared for him, and _wanted _to be there for him, but it was Lawrence that showed Alfred those things constantly, unconditionally, and up close—not from afar, like his real father did. Lawrence, unlike Alfred's dad, would never take a stupid risk without first thinking of how it'd affect his child; or in Lawrence's case, his children. And that was what made a real father. A real man.

Alfred quickly wiped away tears from the corners of his eyes, because he knew the guys were watching him. Man, why so many tears today?

Lawrence let out a sad little chuckle. "Are you okay, Alfie?"

Alfred quickly regained his composure. "Yeah," he said, quietly at first. "Yeah. No, let's go."

Alfred, his parents, his friends, his boyfriend, along with all of their parents, headed out to the parking lot together. The adults walked a few feet in front of the children, talking among each other, while the teens swooped through the high school doors with happiness, all cheering.

"Man, I am so GLAD to be out of that stinking place!" Mathias exclaimed loudly, daring a school official to hear from inside. He jumped into the air making a _whoop _sound.

"At least 'til next year," Ivan pointed out.

"Yeah." Antonio shrugged. "But who really wants to think about that _now? _Tomorrow starts summer—hell, _today's _practically summer. We got a whole three months to chill."

Alfred—feeling a new wave of energy, excitement, and that old, old feeling of badness in him that'd been there since practically his _babyhood_—swooped around, put up both his middle fingers, and pointed them at the high school. "FUCK YOU, SCHOOOOOOOL!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, still flipping off the school, now sticking his tongue out.

All of his friends began to hoot and holler. Luckily, and quite miraculously, the parents didn't hear; or, if they did, they obviously didn't suspect it was Alfred doing something so vile. Ivan, laughing so hard his face was on the bridge of turning maroon, tried to pull Alfred down as he flung around like a maniac. "Alfred, stop, school's not over _yet_—they could still get you in trouble!"

Alfred felt wild. He threw back his head and laughed almost maniacally. "Yeah...but what the fuck are _they _gonna do? Suspend me? There's one fucking day left!" He swooped up again. "I'm free, I'm free, I'm FREE!"

The boys headed to their families' respective cars (or their own cars—Francis and Mathias had just started driving that spring) and bid farewell. They didn't have to promise each other that they'd all keep in touch—they already knew they would. Alfred kissed his mother and hugged his stepfather goodbye. He'd convinced his parents to let him spend the night at Ivan's. He picked up his overnight stuff from the trunk, and headed towards Ivan's mom's van.

Once Magda, Alfred and Ivan got into the car, the latter turned out to be absolutely pooped. He sat in the backseat with Alfred, and soon enough, his head was on the smaller boy's lap and he was dozed off. His head felt warm, big, and comforting on Alfred's lap. He stroked Ivan's ashy hair as he heard the heavy deep breathing and the soft snores, felt the gentle press of Ivan's nose against his thighs, saw his long thick lashes flutter slowly, sleepily, as they pointed towards Alfred's stomach.

Ivan's mother looked through the rear-view mirror as she drove, seeing this, smiling pleasantly. Alfred grinned back, very briefly, before looking back down at his boyfriend, wondering for the umpteenth time how someone so large could manage to look so delicate, so fragile, so soft, so...adorable. The boy bent down (straining his neck, causing brief pain, but not caring), kissed Ivan on his pale forehead, and stroked his thick hair. Alfred thought he saw, just for a quick instant, a small sleepy grin cross his boyfriend's lips.

Alfred continued to stroke Ivan's hair as he began to stare out the window. He reflected on how this year had turned out for him. It was a mixture of...eventful, bittersweet, funny, dramatic—sort of like last year, but with more...beef? Kinda? And then this year had ended off with a bang; and that bang was rekindling with Kiku, and joining his best friends and his boyfriend together, finally, after so long—all for one and one for all.

Alfred had everything he could hope for, and dream of. It was official. He had even more friends than before, an amazing boyfriend, a closer relationship with his family. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing.

Alfred Jones had never felt more on cloud nine in his life.

He looked down at his sleeping boyfriend once more. Did he mention how downright adorable this dude was? Like seriously. How could the universe make a person this perfect? Maybe Alfred was a being a bit conceited, and over-exaggerating just a little bit...but c'mon. Ivan was hella cute. Not to mention he had a great personality.

Alfred decided he wanted to keep this moment in his memories forever—or more, technically, in his gallery forever. He took out his iPhone, put it on camera mode, angled it perfectly onto Ivan's sleeping angel face, and took a picture.

He looked at his handiwork, smiling. Dear God, it was perfect. He loved it. Maybe one day he'll upload it into a physical photo and tape it to his "Ivan wall."

But there was no time for swooning over a photograph now, because the living, breathing image was resting his head right on his lap. Alfred put his phone away and stared down into Ivan's face once more, as if it were hypnotizing him. He bent down to kiss the Russian boy, this time on the soft spot between his ear and his temple.

_Damn, I have an awesome life, _was Alfred's last thought before they pulled into the driveway of Ivan's house.

••••••••

_**Epilogue**_

On the last day of school, Alfred took his lunch tray and sat down at his seat. Still next to Ivan, still at the table that started it all, but this year there were five new additions to the table: Antonio, Gilbert, Francis, Mathias, and Yao.

Alfred smiled at them as he opened up his milk carton, and took a drink. He looked down at his tray, a bit wistfully, as he spoke: "_Yes. _Today's the last day I'm going to eat this shit..."

Antonio laughed along with him. "Until next year, though," he mentioned a bit sadly.

"Yeah, but seniors are allowed to order food," Yao pointed out.

Ivan stared wide-eyed at Yao. "Oh, yeah—I forgot about that!"

Gilbert smiled. "I can't wait to have Chipotle for lunch—_at school."_

"Or Subway," Antonio said.

"Or Five Guys," Alfred said, taking a bite of his too-gooey mac and cheese.

"We're gonna have to need money, though," Francis reminded them.

"Yeah, I know," Antonio said, rolling his eyes. "My old man's already making me work part time at the pizza place."

"Ooh!" Alfred butted in excitedly, widening his eyes. "Can I work with? I'm sure your dad'll hire me."

Mathias cocked a brow. "...Really?" he asked doubtfully, pointing a finger at Alfred. "I'm pretty sure if you and Antonio worked together, you'd get fired by the first day."

The entire table burst out laughing, knowing for a fact how accurate that really was.

The group carried on a cheerful conversation, and for about the umpteenth time in just that week _alone, _Alfred thought about how amazing his life was. Even having Yao here put icing on the cake, because he was Ivan's friend now; if his boyfriend was happy, Alfred was happy. And Yao was actually an okay dude. They even joked a bit sometimes about that fight they'd had last year.

Even Lovino came over from his seat to talk every once in a while. Needless to say, the last lunch of junior year was going great.

Suddenly, the group heard a voice from overhead: "Hey Alfred, Ivan...mind if I sit here?"

They all looked up. Lo and behold, it was little Kiku—holding his tray firmly in his small pale hands, his cheeks tainted just slightly pink.

Alfred looked up and smiled. "Well...sure, Kiku." He furrowed his brows. "But don't you usually sit with Ludwig and Feliciano?"

Kiku shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, I do," he admitted. "But I thought I should give them a little...well, couple's time, especially on the last day of school." He shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I _would _sit with Heracles and Sadiq, but they're arguing about something stupid." Kiku rolled his eyes in a way Alfred had never seen him do before, making the American laugh out loud.

The Japanese boy stayed quiet for a minute, then he plopped down at the empty seat. He started to eat, taking quick little bites.

Gilbert, who was sitting next to him, smiled flatly. "That's nice, Kiku—but I know for a fact my little bro seriously wouldn't have minded if you sat down with him and Feli..."

Kiku shrugged again, looking at Gilbert just briefly. "Yeah, but they need some time alone. All couples do." Then he looked around the table, and his inner counselor came out when he said, "Besides, it's nice to see you guys all sitting together. I'm really happy. I just wanted to check up on you guys."

So they did so. For some reason, having Kiku there just completed things, and Alfred actually felt...nice to have him there.

He knew that a few mere _months_ ago, if Kiku would've sat down at the little lunch table with Alfred and Ivan, Alfred probably would've shooed the boy away, spewing something fierce. And if his _friends _had come to sit at the table, they would've ended up mercilessly beating up Ivan—that is, verbally and emotionally. Which would've made Alfred _pissed. _And if _Yao _had come to sit at the table a few months ago? Oh boy—let's just say Alfred would've broken his nose again. At the very least.

Alfred felt so happy that they could all be together, finally, reunited as allies, buddies—true friends. Sitting. Laughing. Talking.

Alfred had thought not too long ago that having Ivan was all he ever needed, or wanted. But now he realized that there was more than just a romantic relationship that was needed to keep a person truly happy. True happiness didn't come in the form of just one ash-haired, violet-eyed, tall, bulky person. Love and friendship weren't too separate elements. They were all one. Sure, there was no doubt you treated your lover differently than you treated your _friends..._but you had to love them all. You just had to. If a person didn't, they would eventually break down.

And Alfred and Ivan had almost been at that breaking point. Until Kiku came in to help them. Not only help them, but cause them to flourish. Alfred had thought it was irrelevant when Kiku had tried to patch up not only their romantic relationship, but the other relationships they had in their lives, too. Now he knew it wasn't irrelevant. It had in turn made him and Ivan stronger. If it hadn't been for Kiku, Ivan and Alfred wouldn't been, in the best scenario, at each other's throats; in the worst scenario...not even being amicable with one another as they passed briefly through the halls.

Alfred knew now that three wasn't a crowd. Neither was six. Or even eight. Those were actually the perfect numbers.

Alfred glanced around his table of friends delightfully, as they all spoke and chuckled. He was so happy, and so grateful for them. All of them. _Equally _as grateful.

Everything had the potential to be gold, whether or not it glittered.

_**~The End~**_

••••••••

**So there you have it! Three's a Crowd!**

**I really liked writing this story! I hope everything that I needed to patch up was patched up :) I hope that ending was satisfying, too!**

**Did you catch my attempt at a fourth wall break in the beginning of the story? XD**

**And also, I'm in LOVE with the scene in the back of Ivan's van, after the two go to his house after the awards assembly. Everything that Alfred thinks internally about Ivan is 100% true XD (yes, Alfred, Ivan _is_ hella cute) I don't care if Ivan can be a little creepy...in my eyes he's just a big teddy bear who can do no wrong :) (he's my favorite character in Hetalia, in case you couldn't tell)**

**Okay, enough with useless fangirling. Have an awesome day!**


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